


Read Print and Blush (Red)

by sybilius, tartpants



Series: Black Beats and Low Leads [4]
Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note: Another Note
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Awkward Boners, Awkward Crush, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Consensual sexual activity between minors, Conventions, Detectives, First Kiss, First Love, Hackers, Homophobic Language, Horny Teenagers, M/M, Masturbation, Mild torture, Minor induced vomiting, Mystery, Nerd Culture, Teen Romance, date rape drugs, minors committing acts of violence, minors smoking and drinking, teen drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-09-14 00:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 73,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9148405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sybilius/pseuds/sybilius, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartpants/pseuds/tartpants
Summary: It’s 1993 and ‘phreaking’ has taken root in the UK, prompting L Lawliet to take on a case that will cement his reputation as a cyber-crime expert. With both A and B on board, together they head out for London’s DEFF con, a convention for computing and gaming nerds – but it’s hackers vs. adolescent hormones when L and B have to confront the charged and changing heat of their friendship. Are they friends and partners, or maybe something more?





	1. February 1993, Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the fourth installment from 'Black Beats and Low Leads', an artifact-based roleplay and collaborative storytelling project about the World's Greatest Detective and his allies. This is the second beat in arc one; it's probably not necessary to read the other beats in order to understand the events of this story, though it may be helpful and enhance the reading experience.
> 
> If you wish to keep up with 'Black Beats and Low Leads' in real time, the player blogs can be found on tumblr, and the roleplay organized in the "beats log". At the end of a beat, the writing and artifacts will be compiled into a chapters/stories such as this one.
> 
> L: lowlawliet.tumblr.com (written by Tartpants)  
> B: noirberryjam.tumblr.com (written by Sybilius)
> 
> The title of the story is an acronym from the Assembler langauge-- RPB is short for Read, Print, and Blush. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this story, and please leave a comment with your thoughts!

**February 14, 1993**

_L’s Valentine_ [do not edit or repost]

 

If it weren’t for the red and pink envelopes pushed beneath the door to his room, L would have completely forgotten it was Valentines Day.

He’s overslept as it is, and if he’d been attending regular lessons he would have surely heard the other kids – girls, especially – talking about the upcoming holiday. He’s always received far more valentines than he gives out (that number currently at zero), but he’s still surprised at how much resistance he runs into when he tries to open the door to his room. There’s not only a dozen or so cards waiting for him, but two boxes of chocolates and another of cupcakes, decorated in pink sprinkles. One glance at B’s door shows a pink-and-red haul of similar proportions.

L scoops the loot up and arranges it on his desk. There’s the usual assortment of humorous cards, some signifying friendship and others currying favor. At least three cards are of the overt hearts-and-flowers variety, but the one attached to the box of cupcakes is the fanciest. Store-bought and glossy, it features a cupcake decorated with a heart made of real sequins. Flipping it open, L reads A’s familiar script:

_To L, From A._

_P.S. Slaved over those cupcakes myself. Hope you enjoy!_

L lifts one of the cupcakes out of the box and peels off the wrapper, taking a cautious nibble. It tastes decent, but it also tastes exactly like the cupcakes sold at the bakery of the nearest grocery store.

There’s a two-one-two beat on the door that L knows can only be B. At some point in the recent past that L can’t quite pin-point, his best mate started knocking before barging in. Still, he hardly waits for L to say “come in” before sweeping across the threshold, a clutch of cards in his hand, his hair still faintly bed-mussed.

“Happy Heart Day,” L says through a mouthful of cake. “Care for breakfast?” he nudges the box across the desk. “A claims to have baked them herself. Tastes like Tesco’s to me.“

* * *

 “Happy Stupid-Love day, Lawli,” B drops his array of cards on the coffee table and sits down on the small chesterfield in the corner. _She’s getting him cupcakes? The hell?_ B’s stomach starts to churn unpleasantly, though he takes a bite of one with an easy grin, “No way in hell. If she can bake I’ll eat all these Valentine’s cards.”

Lawliet nods in agreement, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, and regarding the Valentines with disinterest. It looks like he’s just rolled out of bed, his hair mussed and his shirt unbuttoned, his collarbones and ribcage distractingly on display. B tries not to stare too much.

 _Been a bit of a problem lately._ B’s not sure what to call the mass of flipflopping excitement he gets when Lawliet is close these days, but it sure as hell is hard to push away. _Should jerk off a bit, later on. Usually helps._

Alright, so maybe B did know what to call it, but he sure as hell wasn’t giving it a name yet.

 _Besides, it’s not like Lawliet would ever be interested in anything like that_ . Lawliet hadn’t even showed any interest in A, much less him. And it wasn’t like A wasn’t, well. Pretty. B had to give that to her. _Too bad she has the personality of a two-faced cockroach snake._

He and A ‘got along’, meaning they tolerated each other. But he still doesn’t trust her an inch, and her fucking _cupcakes_ even less so. Lawliet does seem to be enjoying the cupcake though, snaking out his tongue to paint it with the red icing.

 _Jesus Christ, look away, look away._ He blinks once more to burn the image into his brain, then busies himself with a bite of the shitty cupcakes, or staring at Lawliet’s pile of Valentines. _Which, yeah, Lawliet has more than a few._ So does B, but it’s not like those mean anything. B bites his lip, staring at his own stack with a trace of bitterness.

_What, do you think you could get him a Valentine? Keep dreaming, dumbass._

“What do you think she’s after?” Lawliet asks, sticking a long, elegant finger into the icing of one of the other cupcakes. To avoid staring again, B fishes out his card from A.

_B’s Valentine_ [do not edit or repost]

“Dunno, she sent me one too, hand-drawn. Wanted me to go shooting with her. No cupcakes, though.” And B fully recognized the slightly off-kilter arrow in the second heart as a stab at his poor marksmanship lately. _Always the backhand with you, isn’t it, Adder?_

A wouldn’t miss a chance to remind him who was the _Backup._ Not that it usually bothered him. But if she was going to try and sweeten up Lawliet with cupcakes, B sure as hell wanted to know why.

Lawliet studies the Valentine over B’s shoulder with a frown. His closeness is making B’s heartbeat pick up a little, “Cute. Seems like yours is a little more personalized.“

“I guess. Why’d you think she’d lie though?” he tries to keep his voice neutral.

* * *

 “About the cupcakes?” L asks, licking his lips and catching a few stray crumbs with the tip of his tongue. B practically winces in response, and L quickly folds the cupcake wrapper and deposits it onto the coffee table, trying to neatly dust any remaining crumbs into an empty tea cup. It’s become clear to him in recent months that his eating habits just _might_ be revolting, based on B’s reactions.

Not that it’s like B to be openly fussy about such things, but right around Christmas he had pretty much moved out of L’s room entirely, and L figured that his own tendency toward slovenliness might have been a factor. That and the fact that they were getting a little bit old to be sharing the same space together, as A had been fond of pointing out. _“You’re not actually_ real _cousins, after all.”_

A few years ago, L had actually lamented the fact that he and B weren’t truly blood related, but now there’s a distant part of him that’s distinctly glad that they’re not – though he’s not sure _why_ he’s glad. It just seems better, somehow.

“Yeah.” B tucks his own cupcake wrapper into the teacup. “It there’s anyone who’d know the difference between a homemade cupcake and a factory-baked one, it’d be you.”

“Yes, which I’m sure A is perfectly aware of.” L rolls his eyes a little, thinking of A with an odd mix of both fondness and frustration. She and B didn’t always get along, but L was usually able to finesse things to keep the peace – the most important finesse being B, who L was always careful to assure of his place as L’s virtual equal. “Probably it’s her idea of a joke for just that reason.”

“Pretty stupid joke.” B doesn’t bother to disguise the grumble in his tone, which only makes L smile. Listening to B occasionally talk shit about A behind her back is yet another necessary finesse.

“Anyway, your valentine from her seems like less of a joke.” L touches the edges of the hand-drawn card with his bare toes. “Sounds like she’s asking you out on an actual date.” He picks up another cupcake and quickly hides his smile behind it.

* * *

 “No way. Shit. I thought she was just taking a stab at me for being a bit of a sloppy shot lately,” B’s heart pounds in his chest, and he hopes Lawliet can’t tell. _Why the hell would A want to go out with me? She never stops trying to cut me down._

“That’s a lot of artistic effort for an insult,” Lawliet runs a finger along his lip, “Besides, knowing her, a shooting range would be her idea of a date.”

B is about to protest when he realizes L has something there. He’s about to respond with an emphatic _no way in hell would I ever–_  when he notices that Lawliet has a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

_Does he want me to go on a date with her? Why?_

“Well, suppose you’re right, then,” he sets his half-finished cupcake on the table, not feeling hungry anymore, “D’you think I should take her up on it?”

* * *

L is so busy amusing himself at the thought of A and B ‘playing nice’ long enough to go on a date that he almost doesn’t hear B’s question.

“Take her up on the –” He chews his bite of cupcake and swallows abruptly. “Oh, the shooting range bit?”

B leans forward, clearly waiting for an answer, his knee stabbing into the side of L’s leg. The insistent pressure gives L the strange and sudden impression that his answer is crucial, perhaps desperately so.

L pauses behind another bite of cupcake, wondering how his idle teasing suddenly turned into a serious conversation about A and B _dating_ , of all things. Then again, Sasha and Harold got together right around New Years, and ever since others in the 13-14 age bracket have seemed keen to imitate their conspicuous coupling, which as far as L can tell largely consists of them eating together in the dining hall and studying on the weekends.

Truthfully, the thought of A and B dating makes L a little ill. It just seems wrong, somehow, mostly because there’s something just a little false about A. L likes her, most of the time, and certainly finds her competency and intelligence both valuable and impressive. But whereas B is sometimes excessively human, A feels a little too _in_ human. Which isn’t to say they’re entirely different from each other, because they’re not.

But if this is B’s way of telling L of the real feelings he’s harboring for A, L supposes he should be supportive. It’s the right thing for a best mate to do, after all.

L feels faintly dizzy, though, wondering at what point exactly he missed that B’s grumbling about A wasn’t borne of jealousy, but some other complicated emotion. But it’s true that Sasha and Harold had been in fierce, bitter competition with each other over scholarly pursuits, before they’d finally gotten together.

“Um, I don’t care.” He stuffs the last bit of cake into his mouth. “Your call, I guess?”

* * *

  _He doesn’t care?_

 _Fine. It’s not like I really do either._ B feels his guts twist but he moves his knee away from Lawliet, and stands up to stretch, trying to be nonchalant.

“Fine then, I guess I will. Could be good for a laugh, you know?” It comes out more bitter than he intends, and he tries to force a smile. He can tell it probably looks wrong, but he can’t bring himself to care when he finally looks at Lawliet.

“Alright. Have fun, I guess. Hope neither of you come back injured,” Lawliet stares at him almost downcast for a moment before his gaze returns to neutral.

“I’ll go ask her right now,” B declares, gesturing grandly and almost knocking over Lawliet’s pile of chocolates as he does so. _Just keep making an ass of yourself, why don’t you?_

B doesn’t even wait for Lawliet’s reply, just lets the churning in his gut drive his angry steps towards the door and downstairs, two at a time. _Why the hell would he even suggest that?_

 _He probably thinks if we get all lovey-dovey he won’t have to deal with us being at each other’s throats._ Lawliet had a reasonable patience for he and A’s constant rivalry, though they’d settled into a ceasefire over the past year. The first few months when she’d arrived though– they’d fought almost every other day.

 _At least I know he isn’t after A._ B consoles himself slightly, sitting down on the steps and biting at his knuckles. He stares at the mass of shoes at the front foyer, taking note of A’s high-laced black boots. _Shit. I said I’d go to the range with her. That I’d go out with her._

_Christ, what the hell have I got myself into?_

* * *

 

**February 19, 1993**

 B itches the back of his head uncomfortably. After blurting out to A  ‘any time, any place’ for a shooting session, there they are in the back field behind the stables where Wammy would set up the targets for practice. It’s the first clear day since Valentine’s, though the grass is still a little damp.

 _Feels like a normal meeting_. He tries to tell himself that, though he’s got an ugly feeling at the bottom of his stomach when he looks at her. A is sizing him up with that usual cruel curl of her lip.

 _Does she always wear lipstick?_ She has at least a few times, same shade of slightly demure red. She cocks a SIG Pro, selected from the impressive array of weapons, tossing B a Beretta that he often favoured.

“I’ll give you a familiar one to start, since you need the advantage.” she smirks, and then they go at it. Bang! Bang! That feels normal as well.

After a few minutes, they pull off their headphones and regard the targets. B blinks several times to erase the images of bleak red-eyed memories that have started to creep up.

Since A arrived she’d insisted they acquire people-shaped targets, for ‘realistic practice’. They’re an experience, after Wammy’s circular ones. B’s shooting has gotten better, but occasionally his eyes creep up on him during practice, giving the mannequins real faces from New York, or monstrous grins from god-knows what recess of his memory.

Sometimes that makes his aim better, sometimes it makes it worse. _Today, not great._ A tallies up the scores and clicks her tongue with a smile playing on her lips. He makes a concerted effort not to look at her chest. She, unfortunately, has a nice chest for a fourteen-year old girl.

B is quite the opposite of pleased with that, though he does think it’s nice to look at. _Not today though._

“So, what do you think of the new case?” she asks while glancing back at the targets.

“Oh, uh. Seems interesting, yeah,” B focuses on reloading. _Lawliet didn’t mention a new case yet._

_She knows about it and I don’t?_

“Mhm,” she smiles a little wider, like she can tell he’s lying through his teeth.  “Seems like it’s a good thing you came. I’m outstripping you by twenty points more than usual. Another round?”

“You know it,” B growls. After they reset the targets, he picks up a Desert Eagle, breathing in for the second round. _Keep your eyes in the game_.

 _Same game A is always playing._ She always had to be better– almost like Lawliet always had to win. Of course, Lawliet mainly beat her out, so she had to take pleasure in outstripping B, instead. _Which, fuck, whatever. As long as I’ve got Lawliet, she can have her pissing contest.._

He focuses in on the targets, taking them one at a time. It at least distracts him from thinking about A at all. He takes the last shot, and then realizes that she’s staring at him, gun still trained firmly at the shot she’s just taken.

“What?”

“See, your posture isn’t great, B,” she lowers her gun, moving closer to B than he’s comfortable with, “That’s why you keep swinging left of the target.”

“If you just straighten up a little, right here–” she reaches her hand for his lower back, and B’s skin _crawls_.

“Don’t–” B flinches out of her touch. She regards him with an arch to her eyebrow.

“What’s your problem?”

“Is this a date?” he spits a little when he says it, but keeps his chin high. _I’m done playing any of these games, Ace,_ “Like is that why you sent me that fucking Valentine?”

She hesitates a moment, then laughs in that airy, distant way she often does, “My god, get _over_ yourself, Backup. I just thought your aim could use some work, is all.”

“So this isn’t a date.”

“No. Did you think I wanted a date with Lars too, since I sent him a Valentine? You’re so full of it,” the way she says it doesn’t have quite the usual bite, this time. B would linger on that, but he’s a little busy feeling relieved that the whole business stopped here.

“I didn’t think that, no. It’s a stupid holiday, anyways.”

A picks up a rifle and takes aim at the remainder of B’s middle target, hitting it square in the center. She smiles, seeming a little distracted for once, “Was that what you wanted? A date?”

“Christ, no,” he picks up a rifle of his own, breathes deep, takes aim at the middle target. For a moment, A’s smirking face flashes up over top of it. He pulls the trigger, hitting the target dead-on.

* * *

 L would certainly find it easier to work without the crack of gunfire in the air. The noise-cancelling headphones are effective, technically speaking, but they don’t erase the knowledge from his brain that at this very minute, B and A are out on their shooting range date.

L doesn’t use the shooting range very often. It was originally installed for archery lessons, but when A took up hunting with Wammy, she pushed for training in every type of firearm. L doesn’t find it surprising, given her background, and he’d rather she learn the tactics in a controlled setting than sneak off and experiment on her own. L suspects that B took up shooting mostly because he didn’t like the idea of A being the only one to pursue it, but he’s turned out to be a fairly good shot, himself.

Giving up, L slides the headphones off his ears and listens. Another round of gunfire, and then the noise stops. Either they’ve finished up or have decided to take a break.

Pushing his latest case offering from Scotland Yard aside, L moves his telescope from the West window to the North-facing one, adjusting the focus until he has a sharp, up-close view of the range. The targets are peppered with black holes, the brown grass littered with spent casings. A and B are dressed for the weather in skin-tight jackets that don’t inhibit their movements too much. From a distance, it’s more apparent than ever that B’s an inch or two taller than A, now. Even though he’s still too thin, she looks almost dainty beside him.

 _B and I are the same height, though. Does that mean that I’m taller than A now, too?_  L hasn’t really been paying attention to such things, but he supposes it must be true. He’s had to replace his shoes and clothing twice in the same year.

A and B are talking about something, but B’s facial expressions are hidden from the viewfinder. It’s only when A puts her hand against B’s lower back that L clearly sees him jump and squirm out of reach.

_Wonder what that was about… looks like she was just trying to adjust his stance._

They talk more at length, then, and A is wearing that distant, faintly-amused smile that she uses to cover up her more complicated emotions. L is less interested in that, though, and far too caught up in the one face he _can’t_ see. _What’s B doing? His shoulders look tense._

It doesn’t look like much of a date at all, to be honest.

* * *

 B doesn’t ask A for a third round, questions about this so-called case starting to gnaw at the back of his mind. _Why would he tell her and not me?_ Once they’ve cleared up the weapons, he hurries back inside, taking the steps two at a time up to Lawliet’s room.

He barely knocks, impatient, before opening the door and intending to demand an explanation. Lawliet is tucked up on the couch as per usual, and smiles at B when he walks in.

“Hullo, B.”

B’s initial irritation drops several levels, replaced by a swooping sensation in his stomach. That in itself is a little bit annoying.

“A says there’s a new case,” he blurts out, and it’s a little sharper than he intends.

“Just came in this morning, take a look,” Lawliet gestures at the space next to him on the loveseat, “How was the date?”

“Wasn’t a date, I asked her. It was like I said, she just wanted to mess with me about my aim,” he takes a seat heavily next to Lawliet, glad to get _that_ out of the way. There’s something off about the room layout, looking from this angle. Though Lawliet has his notebooks strewn out and _looks_ to be deep in it, the tilt of the telescope way off from where it’s been since they were stargazing on New Year’s.

 _It’s pointed at the range._ B realizes, then a smile spreads across his face. _Guess he cares at least a little._

* * *

 L hands B a copy of the case report send via fax this morning. It hadn’t interested him on first sight, involving too much money and fraud, neither of which he considers fun or challenging. Upon closer reading, L discovered that the bank fraud case involved telecommunications fraud, specifically something known in the computer hacking world as _phreaking_. The current theory, as L explains to B, is that a group of UK-based hackers have banded together to launch covert phreak attacks designed to transfer money out of bank accounts via the telephone banking system. Banks across England, Scotland, and Wales have also reported slow but mysterious losses over the last year.

“Individually, their losses are small.” L points to a helpful graph. “But collectively, it’s over five million pounds.”

“Just by using a computer and a modem?” B scratches the back of his neck, squinting at the chart. “That sounds like some futuristic sci-fi shit.”

L nods vigorously. “That’s why I want in. Scotland Yard’s not prepared to deal with something like this, but I think we can be, with a little work. If I can establish L as an expert in cyber crime before the rest of the major outfits do, it can only help my credibility.”

“Cool.” B unzips and peels his tight jacket off, his arms startlingly white and bare beneath. L doesn’t know how he always manages to stay so warm dressed in just a tee-shirt, especially when Wammy’s house is at its draughtiest. “Where do we start, though?”

“I think I’m going to actually have to learn how to ‘phreak’ – that’s with a ‘p-h,’ by the way. Hackers think it’s cute to get creative with their spelling.” L rolls his eyes a little. “They also like to log into BBSes and trade software and files with each other, play games, post on forums, that sort of thing. So I expect we’ll have to explore that as well.”

“That’ll be different. Interesting, though.” B gives him a smile that makes L feel better about accepting a case that, on first sight, he feared was going to be regarded as boring not just by B but A, too.

_And A still might not like it. Not quite high-stakes enough for her tastes._

“Does that mean you’ll be free to help out?” L manages a half smile, not quite daring for a full one. “I mean, since it sounds as if you’re not going to be out on dates with A…”

* * *

 “Helping you comes first, always,” B says seriously, hoping the blush doesn’t show on his face, “And I don’t even like her like that anyways. It was more of a stupid dare than anything.”

Lawliet stares back at him, seemingly slightly flummoxed for a moment. _Which, yeah, I guess it was stupid to go asking her in the first place._ He scratches a note down with his pen, “Oh. Good, I’m glad you want to help. Just so long as you know you don’t _have_ to.”

It’s the delicate emphasis on _have to_ that raises up B’s hackles for a moment. _Does he just want me out of the way? Is that why he told A about the case first?_

 _Maybe I’ve been useless lately, what with the staring._ The last case they’d worked on was the age-old Italian catacombs case. Which like, yeah, he and L had hashed out a few things about the Mafia together, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a little distracted. A, of course, hadn’t missed the chance to subtly point that out later on.

 _Which, speak of the devil herself._ A’s cheeks are a little pinked from the cold when she sweeps in without knocking, again _._

“Oh, is Lars filling you in, B? Good, now we can get some real work done,” there isn’t much space between the two of them on the couch, but she slides her thin body between the two of them anyways, placing a compact computer on the table, “I think the Delphi Forums are a good place to start, but might be a little well-known for an illegal ring of hackers. Or they might be speaking in code– but it’s a good opportunity to get to know their M.O. What do you think, Lars?”

She blinks her lashes which B notices for the first time– _mascara._ That’s new.

* * *

 L shakes his head vaguely. “Delphi would be too regulated, I would think. I’m working on compiling a list of BBSes – those are far more popular with computer programmers. My mother even used them, back in her days at Oxford.” He flips through the file folder and shows them the list he’s started. “Some of these, like Plover-NET, are where some of the most notorious hacker groups formed. Legion of Doom, for example.”

A lifts her eyebrows in interest, but L can detect the slight air of surprise that sometimes comes over her, as if she didn’t really expect L to know more than she did.

“These hacker blokes are usually very good at spotting outsiders, which is why we’ll need to do a lot of research into the subculture before we can really dive into the investigation. Should be worth it, though.” He drops the file folder back onto the coffee table and pries himself free of the small sofa, padding across the wood floor and plopping into his desk chair.

“Are hackers always guys?” A seems to sit up straighter, somehow, and L sees B pick up on the gesture and cast her with a suspicious squint.

“Legion of Doom was all male, as far as I know.” L swishes his chair gently from side to side. “There’s probably a few women out there, but they’re rare. Why?”

A’s lips quirk a little. “Well, maybe the hackers would be more accepting of a _female_ outsider, then.”

At that, L catches his bare ankle on the leg of the desk, abruptly stilling his chair, and silently meets B’s gaze.

* * *

 B smirks back at Lawliet’s quizzical look, reveling momentarily in his gaze. But unfortunately, Ace isn’t _wrong_ this time around. He leans back into his hands, think it over, “Not a bad thought. These guys are probably recluses, nerds if I remember right from school. They may act all high and mighty about the books, but they’ll spill their guts if it means a girl will so much as look their way.”

“That’s exactly what I’m getting at,” A smiles up to her red cheeks, staring a little too long at Lawliet. Luckily, Lawliet doesn’t seem to take notice at all, but it still sends a flash of something ugly and angry to B’s gut. _Remember she wasn’t asking him out._

_Or so she said._

“We’ll pick up a female ‘handle’ for the forums, then–” L nods in assent to A, “Although we’ll all manage the communications through it together. After all, it’s not like they can tell who’s on the other side of the keyboard.”

“I was thinking perhaps Athena?” A tilts her head, now turning her gaze to L’s computer screen at the desk

B shakes his head, moving to L’s other side, “Way too high above them– you wanna make these jerks think they have a chance with her. Need something simple, that sticks. What about Quarter Queen?”

_Bit of royalty in there. Plus the alliteration will stick in people’s heads._

“Cute. Only a quarter of the way there, huh?”

“Math words for math nerds,” B glares at her a little and she flicks an eyebrow back.

“Quarter Queen works fine with me,” Lawliet gives his diplomatic smile to B. Which still looks great, to his credit, even if B likes his smirk a little better, “But it might still be a while before we know enough to pull it off realistically.”

“Well then,” A smiles wide with teeth, perching on the edge of Lawliet’s desk, “We’d better get started.”


	2. May 13-14, 1993

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh. Are you ready for The Worst Possible Way your crush could learn about your feelings for them?
> 
> Don't say I didn't warn you ;)

**May 13, 1993**

 

_QQ’s gonna b @ DEFF Con, did u hear?_

L smiles a little at the bright green text, a private message from a user on the Z-Abode BBS. In the nearly three months since he took on the phreaking case, Quarter Queen has established a noticeable but tenuous reputation in the hacking community, and tomorrow is the first day of a popular computer and gaming convention in London, DEFF Con.

Not that any of this has been easy. It’s been loads of work, in fact, with both A and B abandoning most of their other training in order to front-load their tech skills. The research into the history of hacking was time-consuming all on its own, and the two-week intensive in mid-March had left them all cranky and at each others’ throats. That session was taught by a man named Franklin, someone from the Intelligence community that Wammy once worked with. He put them through their paces, and by the time he left they had more or less graduated from n00bs to fledgling cyberpunks.

By Easter, Quarter Queen had hacked into the system operator accounts of eight BBSes, including Z-Abode, allowing L to collect enough data to narrow down which of the major hacking groups were most likely responsible for the bank phreaking. Quarter Queen always left a cute calling card on the BBSes she hacked, a way of revealing herself to be friendly, not malicious. So far, most people were simply curious about her, though it turned out that quite a few people doubted she was a ‘real’ female. Apparently, older men masquerading as teenage girls was something hackers were particularly paranoid about.

“Are we gonna do the flashcards or what?” L looks up, vaguely startled at the sound of B’s voice. He’d been so absorbed by the text on the monitor that he hadn’t heard A come into the bedroom to join them.  

“Oh, sure.” L flicks the monitor off and glides his office chair across the wood floor to face the sofa. “Who wants to start?”

“I will! I added some new ones to the pile last night.” A picks up a pile of the colored index cards and shuffles them a little, then holds one of them up. _Operation Sundevil,_ it reads.

“1990 Secret Service crackdown on illegal hacking activity in the States,” B says easily. “If you’re going to talk about it, talk shit about it.”

They all nod together and A raises the next card. _White Hats_.

“Ethical hackers that volunteer their services to help test the integrity of a computer system.” L brings his knees to his chest and tugs at the frayed hem of his jeans. “And Black Hats exploit computer systems, sometimes just for fun, and sometimes for personal gain. Best to be cagey about your opinion of either group until you know more about who you’re talking to.”

And on it goes, all of them having one last cram-session before they’re off to DEFF con tomorrow.

“Okay, I think we can stop.” A says after nearly an hour’s gone by. “We all obviously know this inside and out.“ She gives B a little nudge with the side of her arm. “What sort of look are you going for? I found this acid-green fuzzy jacket and some cool striped socks at a shop in the village. They look like something a cyberpunk would wear to a rave.”

L casts a quick eye on his own small suitcase. He’s just bringing his regular clothes, along with a pair of non-prescription glasses and a hoodie with the Batman insignia on the back. B and A are usually much better than he is at using disguise to blend in, but in this case, he barely has to try.

* * *

 

B takes a moment to respond, having been momentarily distracted by the particular way Lawliet’s hair falls across his eyes. He tries to keep his voice even, “Not sure. Was thinking about bringing my old bomber jacket, haven’t worn that in a while.”

“Oh, that beat up old thing? I guess it’s starting to fit you, though I don’t know that it really fits with the _look._ You’re fond of it though, aren’t you, B?”

“Yeah. I am,” B is almost too taken by Lawliet’s fingers at his mouth to focus on her barb. _Watch it. You have to survive two days in the same room with him, without getting a fucking hard-on._ He exhales. _No problem, right?_

“I was thinking of going for an off-Han Solo look. But you know me, Ace. Like to keep things spontaneous. ”

“Well, whatever you say, Brian. As long as you know what you’re doing,” she flipped her hair back, already using their chosen code names, “And as long as you’ve got your head in the game.”

“Don’t worry about me, _Alexandra,_ ” he says it a bit mockingly, stretching casually to stand, “I’m gonna go for a walk in the forest, now that we’re all set for tomorrow.”

He takes off with a wave, not looking back. A will no doubt keep Lawliet busy for the next half hour, ‘going over’ case material while trying to show off. B had more pressing preparations to attend to.

_Got to really get my head in the game for this weekend. That means no distractions._

* * *

 

L watches B slip out of the room, wondering if he’s imagining that B’s a little more distant than usual.

“What’s with him lately?” A hoists herself up on the end of L’s desk, her bare feet swinging several inches from the ground. “He acts like everything I say is meant to provoke him.”

L widens his eyes at her incredulously. “Right. He’s just _imagining_ that, is he?”

She gives a casual shrug and smiles. “I just want him to live up to his potential. You’re far to easy on him, you know.” Leaning over, her hand lands lightly on the top of L’s head, fingers raking and combing through his hair. “Look at this. You need to go to the barber.”

“It’s fine,” L grunts. The sensation feels nice, actually, but it’s weird whenever A acts motherly. She truly wants to matter to both of them, L suspects, but isn’t quite sure how and ends up acting out the roles she thinks will work best. Antagonistic older sister, clucking den-mother. “According to B, computer nerds are slovenly and antisocial, so my hair works just fine.”

She stops playing with his hair and stares at him, her upper lip quirking just slightly. “Wow. I’ve never seen you be self-deprecating before.”

“It’s not self-deprecation if it’s true. I am slovenly and antisocial.” He pokes her hip with the end of a pencil. “Now, will you get off my desk, please? I’m trying to pack things up and you’re sitting on my fake I.D.”

“Oh, fine.” She hops from the desk and sits in his extra office chair, spinning slightly from side to side. “Can we stop at Covent Garden tomorrow?”

“What for?” L barely looks up from the papers he’s organizing.

“I want to get some combat boots for my Alexandra look. Maybe a mini-skirt, too.”

He glances up at her. “You’re wearing a mini-skirt now.”

“This is blue denim. It’s all wrong for a cyberpunk.” She pauses, and when she speaks again her voice seems to be a shade or two higher. “I bet B will want to shop, too. For that Han Solo look he’s cultivating.”

L clips his papers together and sets them down. “Fine. We’ll make a brief stop at Covent Garden.”

She claps her hands together in mock-delight. “Thanks, Mister Boss.”

L manages to ignore her, his attention caught by the laminated photo I.D. card left on his desk. It’s issued to a _Brian Brixton_ and lists his birth year as 1976. “B forgot his I.D.” L announces, palming the card.

“Well, he’ll be back soon.”

L looks out the window to the forest that blankets the hill behind Wammy’s House, imagining B losing himself to the verdant trees and distant bird-song. “No. I’ll just go after him. He probably hasn’t gone far.” He climbs out of his chair and jams his bare feet into his well-worn converse sneakers, giving A a quick grin. “It’s about time I made my monthly trek out into the sun, anyway.”

“Don’t melt,” she smirks.

* * *

 

B heads towards the forest at a bit of a run. He’s already getting half-hard in his pants, a little eager to shove the fuzz out of his brain, fill it with the rush of endorphins, oxytocins, sparking clarity.

Fill his eyes with the images of Lawliet, like he could when he was alone. It started out so innocently, the scenes walking into his head about six months ago.

 _Now it’s half of what I fucking think about._  Beyond wants to think he’s trying to shove it aside, but he knows in the forest that it’s pretty damn far from what he’s doing. Truth is he let these thoughts get out of hand five months ago and hasn’t stopped even to breathe.

_The question is what to fucking do about it._

_Well, other than this._

As soon as he crosses about a half-mile from the path, Beyond strips his clothes off in the noonday sun, right next to a generous bend in the river. The combination of the wind on his skin and the sudden exposure makes him shiver, but he settles down on the sandy bank, just letting his toes brush the water.

He takes a moment to revel in the quiet peace of his domain before letting his thoughts wander to Lawliet. The stream whispers back to him, it’s reflection giving him a moment’s pause. _This can’t go on forever._ He knows that. What to do about it, though could come much later. After the con. _With luck, maybe I’ll find someone else to fucking obsess over._

_Right._

He lets his eyes flutter shut to images of an old favourite fantasy– Lawliet catching him jerking off in the shower in Lawliet’s room. Shame flutters in his stomach, quickly following by the flare of excitement when their eyes meet in his mind’s eye.

He trails his hand down his bare chest, ghosting just as he imagines Lawliet would, before taking a hold of himself at last.

* * *

 

It’s actually a pleasant day for a walk. The rainy weeks of April have finally given way to a dose of strong sunshine, and L almost immediately regrets grabbing his hoodie on the way out the door. He ties the sleeves awkwardly around his waist, anyway, and heads up the hill and into the trees.

Before he met B, L had rarely explored the overgrown paths that snake through the birch, elm, and fir trees, but by now he knows the forest well enough to not be startled when a red fox darts out in front of him, heading for higher ground. He knows which path is B’s favorite, too – the one that tapers off near the river where they once built a rickety fort. A ways upstream from there is a section of river that’s more sandy than rocky, and the trees clear out enough to let ample sunshine through.

He spots the area well before he actually sets foot in it, his pace slowing as he realizes there’s something off about the scene. He can clearly see that B’s stretched out on the bank, but he’s completely naked and – _swimming?_ L stops dead in his tracks and rests his hip against a tree. B is not swimming.

Something thick pools in his stomach, a mixture of shame and a sense of rising excitement that he can’t put a name to. From the way B’s arm is moving, from the way his whole body is rocking – _he’s having a wank._

L is fully aware of what the activity involves. He’s tried it himself with the assistance of a _Playboy_ magazine that Barrett gave him for his birthday. It was dimly pleasurable, but not enough for him to continue with to completion. Sometimes he wakes up with a hard-on, too, but it just seems annoying, like waking up with his arm asleep from having laid on it all night.

The fact that he’s getting one now seems far more significant, and he tucks himself behind the tree and holds his breath. _Don’t watch him. He came here to be alone._

“Lawliet…”

The word is breathy and strained, not meant for anyone but B to hear. L’s sure of it.

_But he’s saying my name?_

All at once L feels dizzy, his body and mind sparking with realization. But it must be a mistake, surely? He and B are best mates, and you don’t think about your best mate when you wank. And the only person L has seen B gaze at, in a vaguely appraising way, is A, maybe, with her long legs and tight sweaters. _I guess he looks at me a lot, too. But hasn’t he always?_

And then there’s a long, deep groan from the riverbank that cuts right through L’s confused thoughts, making heat fan more intensely across his lower abdomen. He’s got to get out of here so he can think straight, figure out what he’s feeling, exactly, both in his head and in his body. Only the guilt he’s experiencing stops him from slinking away quietly.

_Fuck, how will I even be able to look at him?_

Desperate for some kind of solution, L rummages through the pockets of his hoodie, finding a crumpled, fingerless glove that he long ago lost the mate to. He drops it on the path where he knows B will see it, dissatisfied with the solution but unwilling to keep his presence a complete secret from B.

And then he gets out of there, fast as he can.

* * *

 

B washes himself in the bracing cold of the river, feeling pleasantly wrung out, ready to face anything that this weekend could throw at him. He takes his time letting the sun dry his skin as he gets dressed, the wind rustling pleasantly among the budding trees.

It isn’t till he hops across the bank that a small, blue glove on the side of the side-trail catches his eye. It seems familiar enough that he strides over to pick it up. It dawns on him dizzyingly quickly who it belongs to.

 _Oh fuck. Oh shit._ That glove was definitely not there when B had come up to the bank, staring at him like an accusation. _Lawliet was here._

 _How much did he see? How much did he hear?_ B thought he might die right here and now, simply from how fast his heart was beating, from the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. But it’s dawning on him what the glove means.

 _Shit shit shit. He knows, he knows._ How could things ever be the same between them again? B couldn’t even think what to say to Lawliet. A choking fear takes hold of him. _I can’t lose him._

 _But fuck, why on earth would he stay friends with me after this?_ B lowers himself to the ground, shaking a little bit. He digs his fingers into the damp, cool earth to distract himself. _It’s out in the open now. The evidence is all there._ He can’t argue with that.

Lawliet knows, and B has fucked it all up, regardless of what happens next. It’s not like he can take it back, pretend it didn’t happen. _I said his fucking name._

 _It’s not like I have a choice about facing the court._ B tries to stand up, the glove still clenched in his fist. He digs his nails into his palm, the pain sharpening his resolve. _Just go._

B tucks the glove in his pants pocket, and forces one foot in front of the other.

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long for L to wonder if dropping his glove was the right thing to do.

Only a half hour or so after he gets back into his room, he hears B’s door shut from further down the hallway. L is pretty sure that B wouldn’t have missed the glove, so that can only mean that he found it and doesn’t know how to proceed now.

Not that L has any idea how to proceed, either. B might be quietly furious with him, or – _maybe he’s embarrassed?_ B is usually so open, so unflappable, all raw, exposed edges. It’s hard for L to picture him being embarrassed, but then again, how daft – of course he’s embarrassed. L is embarrassed, too.

He’s in quite a state, tucked onto the sofa with his case notes in hand, a cushion pushed firmly (but not _too_ firmly) into his lap. For the last year or so he’d watched as the other boys near his age quietly lost their minds to hormones, making jokes about tits and wanking as easily as they used to discuss football and movies, both of which were frivolous but at least something L could relate to. It all seemed like an enormous waste of time to L, and whatever stirrings he felt in his own body were mild enough to ignore, for the most part.

But now he can’t get the image of B out of his head, those pale limbs and fevered movements replaying on a loop that leaves L’s face uncomfortably hot. He keeps trying to read his case notes, but he’s been on the same page for nearly an hour. Maybe longer.

“Hello!” A knocks once and doesn’t wait for permission to enter, sashaying in with a bag of microwave popcorn and a videocassette in hand. “I’m bored. Where’s B? I’ve got the latest episodes of _The Simpsons_.” The American show is one that L and B share a mutual fondness for, and A seems to like it well enough, too.

“He’s in his room. Leave him be, though.”

A lowers herself onto the other side of the sofa, narrowing her eyes a tad. “Why? Is he in a bad mood or something?”

L grips the pillow closer to his chest and calmly meets her gaze. “Just leave him alone for now.”

The silence stretches between them, the clock on the fireplace mantle ticking almost explosively.

“Something happened.” A’s frown is more thoughtful than upset. “What is it… visions again?”

“Yeah. I think so.” For the first time, L is actually grateful for those terrible visions – a scapegoat he can work with.

“That’s fine. You and I can just watch the show together.” She kneels down next to the VCR, tape in hand.

He clears his throat as delicately as possible. “Sorry, A. I think I’d like to be alone to run some data.”

A looks up at him sharply, eyes narrowed again. She isn’t stupid – she knows perfectly well that there’s something strange brewing just beyond her line of sight. And there’s something a bit wounded in her expression, too. L knows that A sometimes feels like a third wheel in this partnership, and now he’s gone and hurt her again. But he doesn’t see any other way around it.

“Fine. Maybe Lenore wants to watch.”

She leaves with her head high, but a distinct cloud of hurt and frustration follows her out the door.

As for L, he tries to run data, but ends up throwing himself into one of the BBS games instead. _Legend of the Red Dragon._ It’s a mindless and silly Dungeons and Dragons rip off, but it’s a way to pass the time. The afternoon and evening pass without a peep from either B or A.

It’s only when L’s crawled into bed that the images of B start to loop in his head again. Only this time there’s sound, too – quiet, breathy moans and L’s name, _Lawliet_ , thick in B’s throat. For the first time in his life, L feels like he _must_ touch himself. Like he’ll just come apart if he doesn’t. But he curls his fingers into the blankets instead and slams his eyes shut, breathing hard through his nose as he tries desperately to think of something, anything else.

None of it does any good.

 _I’m a pervert,_ he finally concludes. Surprisingly, that part doesn’t bother him. It’s being a pervert about his best mate that’s the problem.

He turns on the television and slowly drifts off to late night BBC instead, considering it a temporary victory.

At least until morning comes and he discovers the stained sheets.

* * *

 

**May 14, 1993**

B doesn’t have any nightmares, but it’s no doubt the worst sleep he’s had in a long time. He curls up around the sick dread in his stomach, every possible scenario between him and Lawliet seeming worse and worse.

_I just wish he’d fucking get it over with._

The next day he considers skipping breakfast, his stomach still knotted up. B doesn’t feel like he could swallow a goddamn thing. He wonders, briefly, if he should fake being sick. _Lawliet would know, though._

 _And it’s not like I can stay in bed for the rest of my life. Plus, I owe him for the con, at least_ . Lord knew if there’d be any more cases after this, which causes B’s gut to drop even further. _What the fuck is someone like me even good for, except this shit?_

 _Good for that’s legal,_ he corrects mentally. B is acutely aware of him well his particular _talent_ lends itself to the underworld, along with an array of other things he’s apt at. He glares at his red eyes in the mirror before pulling a shirt on and slouching out while Lawliet’s door is still closed.

He’s first to the breakfast table, at least, so he can focus on staring at his porridge when A comes in. The socks she mentioned are pink and green, highlighting her long legs. B doesn’t spend too much time looking when he catches sight of the figure just behind her.

“Good morning,” she chirps, sitting in between his and Lawliet’s usual seat. He never thought he’d be grateful for that.

“Morning,” he manages, unable to meet Lawliet’s eyes when he slouches in behind A.

* * *

 

Morning meals at Wammy’s are usually subdued and this one’s no different, the noise of cutlery and sleepy voices barely making a dent in the quiet. L sets down a plate of eggs and toast and murmurs ‘hellos’ to both B and A, allowing the fall of his messy hair to excuse him from any eye contact for now.

Even so, he’s pretty sure he can feel the undercurrent of B’s discomfort from here.

_Act normal. Then you can both just forget about it._

But forgetting is easier said than done. When B reaches across the table for a pot of strawberry jam, the mere sight of his hand, with its large knuckles and slim wrist, sends a loose, plunging sensation from L’s chest clear down to his toes.

_Come on, act normal._

After a few steadying breaths, L clears his throat and dares to speak around A’s shoulder. “Can I have some of that, too?”

B appears to freeze in his seat, taking so long to register the question that A picks up the jam and plops it in front of L.

“Thanks.”  

L scrapes jam across the buttery surface of his toast and recites the day’s agenda. There’s nothing more normal than that, after all. “We’ll be departing at nine. Check-in for the Con starts at one in the afternoon, which should provide us with an hour or two at Covent Garden.”

“Covent Garden?” B finally speaks up, his voice rusty.

“I asked if we could stop to shop,” A explains, popping a bit of muffin into her mouth. “I want to find either combat boots or platform Mary Janes. Maybe both.”

B shrugs like it’s a tic. “Alright. Sounds cool.”

A turns toward B and places a hand on his arm, her bright pink fingernails garish against his skin. “Are you feeling better this morning?” Her voice drops lower, more discrete. The question is so well-meaning that it doesn’t immediately occur to L how it must sound to B.

* * *

 

 _Feeling better?_ His brain, already running overtime, short circuits a bit before Lawliet cuts in.

“I told her about your trouble with the visions last night,” Lawliet meets his eyes briefly, and they both look away.

“I’m sorry, was that supposed to be a secret?” A says it without her usual bite, almost concerned. _Right, just act normal, go with it._

_The last thing I need is for her to find out what happened._

“Nah, I’m fine now,” he tries to grin at her easily. He doubts it looks natural, from the way her brow knits. They eat in silence for a bit, the only sounds being the clatter of cutlery on the china. _Is he just going to pretend that nothing happened?_ B should feel relieved, but instead he’s a little bit angry, unable to place why.

“Socks look good,” he tries for something to say.

“You really are sick, aren’t you Backup?” A looks at him like he’s never complimented her before. Which yeah, he tries not to.

“I said I’m fine.”

“Well, thanks I guess. Covent should be fun, before we get down to business,” she narrows her eyes, glancing back at Lawliet’s silent face. B makes the mistake of following her gaze, and a familiar swooping joins the sick knot in his stomach at the sight of Lawliet’s tired gaze. _Right, so that hasn’t gone away either._

“I’m gonna go grab my stuff. Not really that hungry anyways,” he places his half-full porridge bowl in the sink, and takes off without saying anything to either of them.

In his room he turns over the reasons why Lawliet might ignore The Incident (as he’s capitalized it in his mind). _Maybe he still wants to be friends…go on like he never saw._ But he did see, is the thing. And B both does and does not want to believe their friendship can be the same as it was. _Hasn’t really been the same for a while._

_Maybe he’s waiting for me to say something._

B isn’t at all sure what there is to say, yet. _Sorry I’m a fucking creep? Look I kinda wanna kiss you a lot?_ He hadn’t even begun to think about Lawliet finding out, except in the strangest of fantasies. But the energy is building in his chest, and B feels he has to say something. _I can’t just let it lie._

Lawliet has left his door slightly ajar. B stares for a while, building up some resolve. Though for what, he hasn’t quite decided yet. He knocks quietly.

“Come in.”

“Hi.” he says, daring to look at the smooth white of Lawliet’s jaw, at least, “You uh. All set to go?”

* * *

 

Before answering, L carefully zips the padded case around his new laptop, outfitted with the impressive Pentium microprocessor that was only just released in March. He’s almost reluctant to take it to London, but there’s a high possibility they’ll need it – for credibility, if nothing else.

“Yeah.” He straightens up and locks eyes with B, a swoosh of heat barreling straight to his cheeks, whisking thoughts of his laptop clean away. B’s expression is carefully blank, but L knows him well enough to glimpse a mixture of anticipation and mortification there. He definitely found L’s glove, and now he’s waiting for the other one to drop.

 _This is too big_ , L suddenly realizes. _We’re leaving in ten minutes – it might jeopardize the whole case to bring this up now._

He’s well aware that shoving the issue to the back burner could make things more awkward, too, but at the moment he doesn’t see any other choice. If they can just make it through the weekend…

L fishes through the pocket of his jeans and pulls out the fake I.D. card he meant to give to B yesterday. “Better take this before I forget.” He stretches it almost hesitantly toward B, who quickly palms it and jerks back. They breathe into the strained silence of that exchange for a moment before L dares to speak again. “I intended to give it to you yesterday, but I was just walking in circles through the woods so I gave up and turned back.”

B’s face flickers with disbelief now – of course he realizes L is lying. More overtly than usual, even. But perhaps he doesn’t recognize that it’s also a stalling tactic.

“Um.” L shifts from foot to foot, fiddling with the handle of his suitcase. “So maybe we can talk about my poor sense of direction some other –”

Wammy’s voice cuts off the end of L’s words as he arrives at the open door, knocking on the frame and smiling amiably. “Hello, boys. Can I help you with your luggage?”

* * *

 

B barely hears Wammy’s question about the luggage, his brain still looped around the way Lawliet’s lips stuttered around the statement. _Talk about it some other time, he said…but we will talk about it._

The thought does loosen the knot in his chest, just a tiny bit.

In the car, A sits between them, stealing sidelong glances at both of them every so often. B focuses on the rain starting to drip down the window pane, playing scenarios over and again in his head. _Worst case… it seems like he still wants to be friends._ The discomfort of the imagined conversation trickles over him, but it’s still infinitely better than the screaming matches he’d expected yesterday.

 _Best case_ —well, B doesn’t allow himself to hope for that just yet. Besides, going down that train of thought in present company seems distinctly ill-advised. In spite of himself, he steals a glance at Lawliet, whose sharp cheekbones are pressed against the window, a finger nestled between his lips.

B turns back to the window before the heat can reach his face.

Before long the cobble and skyscrapers of London grows up around them, the rain giving way to a spring sunshine. A sits forward in her seats and gives Wammy directions to Covent, in spite of him likely knowing where to go.

B had seen the place numerous times from a distance, but on the inside it’s much more expansive. The morning sun glitters through the glass roof, and the combination of yellow brick and green railings rather reminds him of a train station.

A takes his arm and drags him towards a clothing shop that features pink and purple mannequins and promises ‘consignment gems’.

“Maybe you can find a leather vest to complement your look,” she selects a leather miniskirt from a colorful mix of thrift clothes, laying it over herself almost deliberately “Do you think this would suit me?”

“Jesus, I don’t know, A,” B rifles through a rack next to her. Her seems to demand something of him, but he can’t be bothered to ascertain what.

_She’s always after something._

“I think it would make my butt look cute, which can only be to our advantage,“ her tongue trips over the word ‘butt’, but she keeps her painted lips curled, “What do you think, Lars?”

“Um. Miniskirts suit you, I suppose,” his voice is noncommittal, but it doesn’t stop B from whipping his head back a little too fast. A notices, too, and smirks as she often does when she puts together a case.

_Subtle, B. Real subtle._

He exhales, focuses on trying to come up with a character for ‘Brian’. _Might be better just to be him for the weekend._ His fingers graze on a beaten-black leather jacket. It’s a little tougher than what he’d intended, but something about it looks right. Feels right too, when he pulls it on, weighted and streamline in all the right places. _Suits Brian, I guess._ He studies it in the mirror with a smirk.

_Guess it suits me, too._

* * *

 

L circles behind B, noticing how the jacket hugs his broadening shoulders and narrow torso. He looks good, pulling off the jacket far better than someone his age has a right to. Their eyes meet in the mirror and L smiles both awkwardly and instinctively, then spins around to browse through a rack of vintage tee-shirts, his pulse racing in his throat and impossible to ignore.

_Does this mean I fancy guys?_

The only gay person at Wammy’s (that L knows of) is Jake, fifteen and a football fanatic, so tall that no one has dared to give him a hard time about it. L has never found Jake particularly attractive, even though he’s conventionally handsome, but then L doesn’t find any girls particularly attractive, either. It had always struck him as a relief to not be burdened with such nonsense, but now here he is, unable to stop looking at B through an objectifying lens.

“Here.” He pulls a tee-shirt off the rack with cracked and curled red lettering, spelling out _THE CLASH_ above a black and white graphic image of the group. Turning around to B, he holds the shirt a few inches away from B’s chest. “This will look good with it. You’ll be a punk rock cyber-punk.”

B’s fingers lightly touch the sleeves of the shirt, his breath seemingly held for a moment, then he glances at L as if to check that he’s being serious. L gives him the slightest smile in return, noticing the faint flush that fans up B’s neck.

_Has he been doing that all along and I’ve never noticed? Some detective._

Still, there’s something a little thrilling about the discovery, no matter how late it’s come. Something a little guilt-inducing about it, too. Should he really be pleased about making his best mate blush when he doesn’t have a fucking clue how he feels about anything yet? And then there’s A to consider, too.

As if sensing his thoughts, A comes up behind him and tucks her chin on his shoulder, the smell of her lavender shampoo invading his nose. “What about you, Lars? Or _Luke_ , rather. Shall we get something for your look?” She lifts her head and gives B a smile. “What do you think, Brian? Any idea what would suit him?”

* * *

“Luke already has a good look for it, doesn’t he? With the glasses he’ll fit the profile,” he glares at A, already resenting her closeness to Lawliet. She’s changed into the leather skirt, which hugs her form in a nice manner, “That skirt makes your ass look lumpy.”

He’s not entirely sure what makes him say it, but it gets him an ugly look from her. Which, yeah, it makes him feel a little better, “I think it’s flattering. Let’s see how yours pans out, _Brian_.”

“Fine,” he strips off his t-shirt in one movement before realizing that might be an bit of a bad idea, things being as they are. He glances at Lawliet as he pulls the _Clash_ t-shirt on. _Yep, he’s staring now too._

B can’t help but feel a little bit smug when he pulls the jacket on and faces A appraisingly, “Well?”

A frowns as she looks him up and down, “If you want my honest opinion, this look is all wrong. You look far too cool for this type of con, you’ll intimidate anyone we try to talk to.”

“Says the girl in a hot miniskirt.”

“Oh so it’s _hot_ now,” she smirks at him, catching him in the lie.

“I didn’t say _you_ looked hot in it,” he mutters, but it’s a little weak.

“How do _you_ think it looks, Luke?” she turns to Lawliet with a bit of a pout, who is looking more than a little unamused with the entire escapade.

* * *

 

L watches his friends squabble, irritation mounting and leaving him with a headache. This childish taunting is almost on par with what erupted when A first came to Wammy’s almost two years ago. L knows just how terrible these two can be to each other, and desire to avoid that particular nastiness sweeps aside any burgeoning interest in flirtation.

“Enough already. Just get up to the till so we can pay and get out of here.” His tone is un-apologetically crisp, making B cringe slightly while A snaps her mouth shut.

They remain strained and quiet in the car, too. On the ride to the Docklands L fills the silence with last-minute instructions, savoring the way authority makes him feel more in control of the situation.

And really, there’s absolutely no reason for him to confront anything emotionally complicated when they’re all about to embark on an investigation.

 


	3. May 14, 1993

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so if you thought you were over being embarrassed for B...you thought wrong.
> 
> If it makes you feel better I think this is the last terribly embarrassing thing that happens, heh. 
> 
> Also, content warning for date rape drugs comes in effect this chapter. Be warned :)

**May 14, 1993**

The hotel and convention center is a shiny new structure in London’s business district, but when they drag their luggage into the lobby Wammy is the only one in sight wearing a three-piece suit. The large and airy space is filled with computing and video game enthusiasts: couples in Star Trek uniforms with their children in tow; teenagers wearing Marvel and DC tee-shirts, or in full costume as characters; and plenty of young-to-middle-aged adults, some of whom do look like the stereotypical nerd, but quite a few in football club jerseys, too. One man even strides by in an impressively authentic Han Solo outfit, and only when he turns and flashes L a coy smile does L realize that ‘Han’ is a girl. 

“Look at all these dorks,” A says under her breath, a dark chuckle underlying her words. “I can almost smell the desperation.” 

It’s an overstatement, really, but L does notice that A is getting more than a few appreciative looks from some of the DEFF Con-goers. Aside from the female Han and a few married Star Trek mums, it appears that girls are in relatively short supply. 

“We’re on the eleventh floor,” Wammy says, returning from the check-in desk. He passes a key-card to L and pockets the other one for himself. “I did inquire about an upgrade, but the hotel is short on rooms due to the convention. However, any one of you is welcome to stay with in my room, if you find that three to a room is cramped.” 

L pockets the key-card with a sinking sensation. He’d forgotten that they’d only been able to reserve two regular-sized hotel rooms for their stay. That means that he’ll be in a room with both B and A, possibly sharing a bed with one of them. This was never a problem in the past, but now it undoubtedly is. And yet he doesn’t like the idea of staying with Wammy and leaving B and A to bunk up alone, either.

* * *

 

B’s heart sinks when he sees the two beds covered in creamy linens, though he was expecting this.  _ There’s no way I’m letting  _ her  _ sleep with Lawliet.  _ And the thought of sharing a bed with Lawliet again causes equal parts excitement and a sick nervousness to flare in his chest. 

_ I wonder if I can sleep on the couch without it being weird _ . He’s just about to mumble out the suggestion when A strides into the room and displaces the lamp in between the beds. 

“Come help me with this, Backup,” Ace has ahold of the heavy wooden nightstand and is tugging it out of the space between them, “We should push the beds together. That way no one has to sleep alone.”

“Oh, um, sure–” he’s so taken aback by the easy solution that he doesn’t catch whether the statement is earnest or has an edge to it.  _ God knows, I’ll find out tonight _ . Lawliet doesn’t seem to protest, and A seems legitimately grateful that he’s gone along with the idea so quickly. The beds fit together easily enough, in any case. 

“Thanks, B,” she slips a hand around his waist, digging her nails into his hip almost affectionately. He isn’t sure whether to shudder or accept the slight comfort that comes from the gesture. But it’s gone as soon as it comes, as she ghosts over to the mirror to reapply colour to her lips.

“I’m ready whenever you two are.”

B nods seriously, turning to Lawliet for the last word on the matter, “Anything we need to know before we start digging?”

* * *

 

L hides his precious new laptop under the bed, not bothering to wonder which of them will be stuck sleeping in the middle since A seems happy to accommodate that role. Still, it seems better than any alternative he can think of. 

“Take another look at the case notes if you need to,” he nods at the notebooks stacked on the small corner desk. Through the data they’ve collected, they’ve singled out two hacker groups as potentially connected to the phreaking. One of them, DARQ AN0MALY, is known for intimidation, spreading viruses and other bugs across the BBSes that have dared to criticize their methods. The other group, p0isoN Lulz, seems more like a band of pranksters with highly impressive coding skills. 

“I have my own.” A pats her pocket, probably referring to the little notebook she carries everywhere, scribbling in it as frequently as a diary. The final ensemble she’s put together is certainly colorful, and also vaguely ridiculous: acid-green fuzzy jacket, leather skirt, green-and-pink striped socks, and platform Mary Janes. L supposes, though, that the slight air of goofiness might make her a little more approachable. 

_ DEFF Con Case Notes _ [do not edit or repost]

“Hm, what else.” L slouches against the edge of the desk and props his finger between his lips. “Don’t expect anyone to openly share their hacker names, but keep an ear out for gossip, for any info on who knows who. I also don’t want any of us to claim to be Quarter Queen, but we can look for opportunities to make it clear that we know her.” He nods, mostly to himself. “I think that’s it.” 

“We’ve just got to get friendly with these fuckers.” B gives him a half-grin, his thumbs jammed into his jeans and tugging them low enough to reveal a half-inch of pale skin between his belt and the hem of his tee-shirt. It’s a detail that L would never have noticed before, but now he barely bothers to hide his stare. The leather jacket and punk rock tee-shirt looks a lot less like a costume than A’s outfit does. 

“That’s right,” L says, finally blinking his eyes away. “Get friendly.” 

The convention center attached to the hotel is light and airy, filled with tall windows that offer a generous view of Canary Wharf’s skyscrapers. At the registration desk they check in with their fake I.D.s and receive name badges and tote bags printed with the DEFF Con logo. Inside is a free tee shirt and a thick program listing the various events and vendors.

L loops the name badge lanyard over his neck, content to be ‘Luke’ for the weekend. A pulls her name badge out of its plastic sleeve and doodles a crown over the letter ‘A’ in ‘Alexandra.’

“Just a little subliminal iconography.” She re-caps her pen and drops the lanyard over her neck, smiling in satisfaction. “What now? Should we go off on our own or stay together as a group?” 

L thumbs through the program. “Looks like the panels and other events don’t really start until tomorrow. The vendors hall is open, though, and there’s a video game competition going on in one of the ballrooms.”

B nods, his name badge clipped to his hip pocket instead of slung from his neck. “Seems wise to stay together, then. Get the lay of the land.” 

A slow wash of warmth and contentment rolls over L’s psyche. The three of them work so well together, sometimes, like separate limbs attached to the same being. If they can just stay focused on the case, like they are now, everything should be alright.

* * *

 

The game competition is way more like a rock concert than B expected, with kids and teenagers yelling, waving noisemakers while music blares and a commentator amps up the crowd. 

“Aaaand for the prize of this showdown of the year– the winner, through their indomitable will and skill– will receive the first release copy of the game you’re all waiting for. Mortal! Kombat! Two!” the music hits high, and the screen flashes a series of brands B recognizes from the flashcards, to the rhythm of a twang Eastern-electronica theme.

The gameplay B recalls from one night they spent marathoning the popular hits of the day. He and A had gone head-to-head for a few matches before they’d had to switch it up. A buzz sweeps over the room as the attendees assess the game demo. 

“Check out that sick punch– Shang Tsung looks OP,” B tries out the lingo, and it comes naturally with the experience of the past few months. 

“Not as much of a graphics improvement as I would expected– but the new moves look effective,” ‘Luke’ leans in and speaks conspicuously to the both of them. 

“Who gives a crap about the graphics as long as it kicks butt!” one of the kids next to them raises his fist in the air and they all cheer wildly when the screen flashes the game titles.

The top three competitors are brought up next, in a fanfare that opens up to three gameplay platforms with huge screens and decorated with black-and-green circuitry-themed displays. Lights flash as the 7th Guest comes up on the screens, and the contestants prepare for the speedrun. One of them is hiding his face under a cyberpunk-style gas mask, looking disinterested but cool. A few of the crowd members boo him as he steps up to the stage.

_ They really go the full deal for these thing.  _ B thinks as he joins in the raucous cheers when the game begins. 

“Another riff on ‘The Wizard’?” Ace says it in the general direction of Lawliet, but it’s clearly an open question. The tall female Han Solo that B remembers from earlier has come up next to them.

“This isn’t your first con, is it?” she smiles a little enigmatically at A, “but better get used to it. Works every time to amp up the crowd. Fun, huh?”

* * *

 

The 7th Guest is a demanding puzzle game that L played last month, enjoying the challenge of the puzzles but finding the ‘haunted mansion’ storyline silly and unnecessary. Still, he’s taken by surprise and even grudgingly impressed at how quickly the competitors breeze through the puzzles, though there’s no doubt they’ve all played the game before.

During one of the silly haunted mansion bits, L turns to finally assess the female Han Solo in their company, who appears to have gravitated to A, in particular – perhaps because A’s one of only a small number of younger females at the con. Han looks to be a few years older than them, perhaps sixteen or so, but then A could probably pass for sixteen, too. 

“Hey!” Han smiles goofily at L and points to his name badge. “You’re a ‘Luke.’ Did your parents name you after Skywalker?” 

Han has her own name badge anchored to her hip, like B does, announcing that her name is ‘Maria.’  _ Unusual for someone with a Scottish accent _ .

“Maybe, but they haven’t admitted to it yet.” L matches her smile, raising his voice to be heard over the crowd. "You’ve been to DEFF con before, then?” 

“Oh for sure, but I had to come on my own this time. My boyfriend was supposed to be Chewbacca, but his grandfather fell ill up in Wales.” She shakes her head from side to side, the short-haired wig bouncing a little as she rolls her eyes skyward. “Still, I promised Joey I’d come in his stead. So, you might say it’s my first time _ Solo _ .” 

It’s a dorky pun worthy of the setting and situation, but they all laugh, anyway.

By the time the game competitors have gotten to the last puzzle of the game, the guy in the gas mask has pulled ahead and taken the lead, though a kid who looks no older than twelve is fast on his heels. 

“Look at that.” B nudges him, dipping his head close. “Couple of other assholes in gas masks standing near the front. Think they’re part of a group?”

_ Probably _ . But there’s only one way to find out.

“What’re those gas masks about?” L asks loudly, knowing that if anyone nearby knows, they’ll probably be more than eager to fill him in. 

“Black Hats.” This from a kid who hasn’t looked up from his game boy once. “Duh.” 

Marie nods her head grimly in agreement. “Yeah. I heard they might be the DARQ AN0MALY.” 

At that, A rocks on her heels and snorts back a snide, knowing laugh, prompting both Maria and B to look at her in surprise. “They wish,” she whispers, then gives Maria a secretive and nearly boasting smile. “You might say I’m on a pretty close,  _ personal _ basis with the DARQs.”

* * *

 

B has to fight not to glare sharply at A.  _ She’s always pulling shit like this _ .  _ And she gives me a hard time about being spontaneous _ . He decides on an expression of mild surprise, just so that ‘Brian’ can feign ignorance.  _ Which yeah, I don’t know that shit, and I don’t need to be caught acting like I should _ .

“Really, Alex? I mean you said you knew some black hats, but DARQ?” 

“Let’s just say I caught their eye. Maybe you can do the same, this weekend, Brian.” 

“The DARQ are more into intimidation than recruitment, at least in public,” Maria takes out a cigarette and lights it, causing ‘Luke’ to shrink back in disgust with an expression B knows is fake.

“Damn, I should have brought a pack,” Ace smiles at Maria like she’s testing for something.  _ Another one of her fucking games. _

“Just take one of mine,” Marie smiles easily, her blond hair showing a little underneath the wig. B is half expecting A to cough and sputter when she gets ahold of the cigarette, but she does so with finesse, raising eyebrows at B when Marie lights it for her. 

_ Right then. _

He glances back at ‘Maria’, focusing in on her real name for the first time.  _ Merrie Kenwood _ . Not different enough to constitute a lie to worry about. Nonetheless, he signals Lawliet– two taps to his right index finger to denote  _ fake name _ , and a cross of his ring and middle fingers to indicate,  _ all clear for now. _

Lawliet meets his eyes and nods imperceptibly. They both turn back to the crowd, B staring at the few gas masks he sees and biting his lip.  _ If I want to get to know their names, I’m going to have to get them to take off those masks.  _

* * *

 

The speed run comes to an end with the gas mask-wearing contestant claiming a narrow victory over the twelve-year old. A few people boo at the results, confirming again that the DARQs aren’t particularly well liked, though a not-insignificant number of people do line up to offer the winner a high-five. 

The commentator announces that there will be another competition tomorrow at two in the afternoon, and the crowd begins to quiet down and slowly filter toward the exit doors. As they file past, L gives A and B the signal for  _ wait  _ and _ watch,  _ crouching down and pretending to rifle through his tote bag while actually carefully assessing everyone wearing a gas mask. If B can’t see their names, they’ll need to take note of any other identifying features. 

Most of the DARQs are utterly generic looking, unfortunately, though L does note that one of them has long, feathery blond hair held back by a black elastic band. Another one is wearing Air Jordan’s with a particularly striking neon-green splash pattern on the sides.  _ Costly.  _ Purchased with phreaking money, perhaps?

“Sorry.” L straightens up and gives them all a sheepish smile. “I thought I lost my hotel key card.”

“I need a cuppa,” Maria announces, puffing heartily on her cigarette as they spill out with the crowd into the hallway of the convention center. “There’s a coffee stand down in the atrium. You three up to join me?” 

L gives B a slight shrug, but A smoothly glides up to Maria before he can answer. “Sure. We’re up for it.” 

They find a small table in the plant-filled atrium, pulling up enough chairs for all four of them. The tea and coffee is on the weak side, but L splashes enough cream and sugar into his that it shouldn’t matter. 

“So how do you all know each other?” Maria lights up another cigarette almost immediately, tossing the pack to A and flicking her ash into a saucer. 

“Distant cousins,” B smiles easily into his teacup. “I’m from Queens, and she’s from Chicago.” 

“And I’m from Oxford,” L adds. “We’ve all kept in touch through the BBSes. DEFF con seemed like as good a time as any for them to pay England a visit.” 

“Brilliant!” Maria tips back in her chair a little, squinting a B first, then L. “Yes, there’s definitely a resemblance between the two of you. But there’s a stark difference, as well.” She bites her lip and taps her cigarette into the saucer again. “You look a little younger but you’re actually older,” she says to L, then lifts her blue eyes to A. “And you’re older than both of them.” 

* * *

 

“Sharp,” B grins a little at ‘Maria’, taking in the familiar smell of tobacco.  _ Time to start making conversation. She seems smart enough to be a hacker, for sure, _ “So you’ve played Wolfenstein 3D, right?”

“Of course,” she takes a sip of the tea with a slight smile, “Personally, I’m a big fan of first person-shooters.”

“Same here!” B doesn’t have to lie as ‘Brian’ here– though it doesn’t quite compare to the real thing, “I thought the 3D was really cool, and the plot was fun. I mean, spies, yeah?”

“Shooting Nazis was a childish and unoriginal plotline, in my opinion,” a nasal  voice comes from behind them. Kid dressed in a wizard costume, complete with obnoxious, plastic-gem staff. He’s looking back and forth across the table, eyeing the empty seat next to Maria, “And the 3D was unnecessary.  _ Flashback _ was a far superior game, in terms of the best releases of the past year.”

“God, but the saving in that was a pain,” B hasn’t actually played  _ Flashback _ , but he’d read enough reviews of it to fake it. The boy, on the other hand, only smirks more broadly.

“Well of course those with the attention span of a gimmicky FPS  _ would _ say that, wouldn’t they?”

“No need to be such a fucking asshole,” B glares at him, his temper flaring up.  _ I knew some of these nerds were know-it-alls, but this is another level _ . 

“I see you’ve got a temper to match the stupid brutishness of your pathetic jacket. But you see, my thuggish friend, it’s words and smarts that have power here, not fists. So I suggest you run along back to your street friends, where you belong.”

He actually flips his fucking  _ cape _ when he sits down. B opens his mouth to say something nasty when Maria leans forward, and the kid seems to stutter a bit, his eyes fixed on her chest.  _ Oh so that’s what he’s here for. Pathetic. _

“Don’t be too hard on Brian, I think this is only his second con. I don’t even think I had the patience for  _ Flashback. _ You must be pretty good at the puzzles.”

B sits back and fumes a little while Maria lets the kid,  _ Paul Christian _ , monologue. A, who has in fact played  _ Flashback _ uses this time to show off her know-how. The Paul’s eyes linger a little at her nametag, and he scurries off not long after that, with a thoroughly contemptuous glace at B. 

“You should watch yourself a little,” Maria takes a sip of her tea without looking at B,  “Some of them will zero in on anyone they think is ‘cool’ and make the con a living hell for them. Revenge of the bullied, I suppose. And if you get on the wrong side of the black hats, they might frame you for something. My boyfriend almost had that happen to him.” 

“Thanks, I guess. Thanks a lot,” B nodded. There was only so much you could study before you actually had to get the pulse of the people. And it was easy to get caught up in it.  _ Gotta stay sharp and think this through. _

* * *

 

L silently echoes B’s gratitude. He’d been worried Maria was the sort of person who only talked about her boyfriend (which she did a fair bit of, admittedly), but she’s also clearly sharp enough to serve as a guide, of sorts. 

“That Paul fellow is someone important, I take it.” L watches his cape swish through the crowd that’s filling the atrium. 

Maria tips her cup at him. “You’ve got it. Definitely a 1-3-3-7, but he keeps his handle close to his chest.” 

L nods to that. 1337 is the cyber-spelling for 'leet,’ meaning ‘elite’ – a class reserved for only the most skilled network ninjas – which means that Paul could be from p0isoN Lulz or the DARQs, though a cape and a staff don’t really send the same message of intimidation that a black gas mask does. 

“Alright, I could light my next cigarette with the glares we’re getting for hogging this table.” Maria sweeps to her feet, teacup in hand. “I’m gonna head to my room to call Joey and get out of this costume, but I’ll be having dinner in the hotel restaurant at 7:30 with a few friends of mine, if you want to join us. Ta!” She turns on her heel and strides away before any of them can really respond, smoke streaming over her shoulder. 

“God, I thought she’d  _ never _ leave.” A rolls her eye and screws her face up in irritation. 

“What, unhappy that you’re not the only person with tits at DEFF con?” B’s smiling, but there’s a definite bite to his words. 

“It really is getting crowded in here,” L mumbles, hugging his tote bag to his chest to save it from getting knocked over. People are starting to cluster around the coffee stand, shouting out their orders for earl greys and espressos. “Let’s check out the Vendors hall, then head back to the room.”

B meets his eyes quickly, something unspoken there, then flits them away. “Sure.” 

The Vendors hall is lined with all kinds of wares – hardware, software, shareware. The impressive variety of products on display speak to just how diverse the concept of ‘nerd’ has become, with everything from extremely high-end computing gear, to fuzzy Ewok dolls and Super Mario backpacks. It takes them nearly a half-hour to circle just one side of the enormous room, and near a video game demo area L spots two guys in gas masks; one of them is the one with feathery blond hair that he took note of before. It takes L all of two seconds to realize that the gas masks are definitely staring at them, and at A, specifically. They could be staring for any number of reasons, L supposes, but the ominous gas masks make it feel vaguely threatening. _ Are people already wondering if she’s Quarter Queen? Or did someone overhear her bragging about being on a close, personal basis with the DARQs?  _ Before he can even begin to ponder his own questions, A waves at the two DARQs and blows them a kiss. 

“Jesus,  _ Alex.”  _ B hisses, nudging her along with his shoulder. “They’re gonna think you’re fucking with them.” 

“So? Isn’t that why we’re here?  _ Relax _ . Like I’m really scared of some shithead in a gas mask.” 

L sighs, already missing Maria. At least with her around, B and A were forced to play semi-nice. “Alright, enough. I’m going back to the room. Find me there when you’re finished.” 

In the end, he knows they won’t be far behind him.

* * *

B pretends to study the collection of Legend of Zelda plastic swords and Hyrule shields while wishing he had followed Lawliet upstairs, but not particularly wanting to go up there with A either. His mind sketches out a pleasant scenario where he manages to give A the slip, and Lawliet is arranged on the bed among his notes.

The notes would be forgotten the moment B walked in, his piercing gaze magnetic to B’s eyes.

They would say nothing, or no, perhaps Lawliet would tentatively wrap his thin white arms around B’s shoulders, much like he used to. But  _ closer. _

_ “I saw you.” _ he’d whisper in B’s ear, sending a hot gust through his chest.

_ “I know.” _

B has to bite his lip hard to pull himself out of that fantasy before it gets any more out of hand. It’s just as well, since A is studying him with a curious tilt to her eyebrows.

“So, I’m guessing you were sad to see Maria, or rather ‘Han’ go,” A sidles up to him a little too close.

“Sure, she was pretty hot,” B isn’t even sure why he says it.  _ Maybe so she’ll leave me alone about this shit. _

“She cut a nice figure in the costume, I thought. Somewhere between masculine and feminine. Is that your type, Backup?”

“I don’t have a fucking type,” he snarls at her a little more than he should, “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

“Suits me.”

When they get into the hotel room, Lawliet is tucked up on the two-bed combination much like B had imagined he would be, taking notes and glancing at the nest of papers around him.

He does glance up at the two of them, smiling almost nervously at B before looking back down.

_ Come on, Brian. Let’s just get this done. Personal shit later, _ “So, anything we ought to know before dinner?”  


* * *

 

L blinks into a business-like expression, though it’s partly a cover. In the twenty minutes he’s been alone in the room he’s spent more time wondering what B and A were doing together instead of actually reading notes and chat logs. And now that they’re here in front of him, standing side-by-side, he can’t help but notice how  _ right  _ they look together – admittedly, it might be a side-effect of them both wearing leather. 

_ But it wasn’t A’s name that he was saying in the forest… _

And then there’s that. The longer they go without addressing the issue, the more L feels like he might have imagined the whole thing. Did B  _ really _ say his name? Could it have just been the wind, or some unconscious desire manifesting in the deepest coils of L’s brain? But the way that B’s eyes jump away from L’s, the way the pale skin on his throat turns pink when they speak to one another – that has to mean something. But he can’t think about that. Not now. 

“I’ve reviewed some of the BBS chat logs and forum posts from the last week. Based on a number of correlating details, I think it’s possible that Paul’s handle is Zaphod, from p0isoN Lulz. Just last week Zaphod posted a passionate defense of  _ Flashback _ that features many of same exact insults he hurled at B downstairs.”

“Really?” A purses her lips together. “But then I guess that fits, doesn’t it.”

“Ugh, does that mean we have to try to be friends with him?” B’s scowl is both terrible and lovely and it makes L feel curiously warm. 

“Interaction of some kind is ideal. What was his last name?” 

“Christian.” 

L nods. “’Paul Christian’ is probably a common name, but I’ll see if Watari can dig anything up. When we go down for dinner we should be on the lookout for any of the DARQs, who’ll probably be out of their costumes by then.” 

“That’s right,” A chortles, flopping onto one of the chairs and peeling her striped socks off. “Can’t eat with a gas mask strapped to your stupid face.” 

“One of ‘em had expensive sneakers, did you notice?” B sheds his jacket, too, hesitating before sitting down on the doubled-up bed, though several feet away from where L is. 

“Yes, they had those bright green soles, didn’t they? And then there was the one who had the long, feathery blond hairstyle.” 

“Another had a scar here.” A points to the outside of her forearm. “Dark pink, about an inch-and-a-half long.” 

“Good. Be on the lookout for those identifying features.” L neatens up his stack of paperwork as best he can, sliding it back into a folder. 

“I’m gonna take a shower first.” At that announcement, A kicks her socks and shoes into the corner. “Didn’t have time for one this morning.” She doesn’t bother to look back at them as she trots into the bathroom and swings the door shut behind her.

L flinches at the exact same moment he sees B’s body spasm with a no-doubt similar reaction.  _ Shit. _ With all three of them in the same room, L hadn’t really prepared for what would happen if they ended up alone together. 

_ Maybe now is a good time to debrief Watari.  _

He expects that his feet will carry him toward the door – they’ve never disappointed him before, after all – but they remain stubbornly in the same spot on the bed. B is on the bed, too, his back turned to L as he leans over to massage the back of his calf.  _ God, he’s still your best mate. Just say what you’d normally say.  _

“So. Anything else happen after I left the Vendor’s hall?” He immediately regrets his tone, which isn’t business-like at all but strained with some emotion he isn’t used to feeling at all. 

* * *

 

“Nothing that special really,”  _ except me going over this exact situation in my head, fuck. _ B reckons he has about ten or fifteen minutes before A gets out of the shower to say something to stop his heart from beating off the charts.

_ Just get the glove and say something. _ He slips off the bed to retrieve it from his bomber jacket, “Uh, so. This is yours, right?”

Lawliet takes it while pointedly not looking at him, seeming happier to avoid the topic altogether, “Yes. I suppose it is.”

There is something of an uncomfortable pause, in which B’s brain has started to play a loop of  _ say something, say something _ , while fixating on the particular gorgeousness of Lawliet’s bony wrist. He swings his legs against the bed. Lawliet clears his throat, “I’m…very sorry I caught you unawares.”

“Look it’s uh. Not a big deal, don’t think too much about it. As long as we’re okay,”  _ fuck fuck, say something about how you like him. But fuck don’t make it weird don’t make it weird. _ The two concepts seem utterly, abstractly impossible. B wonders if his tongue has glued itself to the roof of his mouth.

“We’re okay,” Lawliet’s demeanor changes to a kind of airy disaffectedness, drawing his knees into his chest. It tugs at B’s concern, making him look at him in the eyes for the first time, “You know, you don’t have to go into the forest, be secretive about…jerking off. It’s fine, I wouldn’t have made a big deal about it.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe you can join me if you like,” the words are out of B’s mouth before he really thinks them through, but the effect on Lawliet is immediate. It’s like a trainwreck in slow motion, his pale cheekbones exploding with color, the straight line of his brow twisting with confusion.

_ Fuck fuck fuck. _ Before he can say something,  _ anything _ to correct what he’s just said, the door of the bathroom opens.

“Um. I’m going to shower next, bye,” He pushes past A without even bothering to hide his frustration, slamming the door shut and sliding down to sit on the bath mat.  _ Shit fuck shit shit shit. Why in the bloody hell did I say that? What the actual fuck was I thinking? _

And just as he expected, he’s hard again, too.  _ Fuck. _ He turns on the shower to ice cold, muffling his gasp when he gets in.

The icy water, regrettably, just serves to remind him of the cold stream in the thick of the forest.

* * *

 

B lunges for the bathroom so fast that he nearly knocks A over on his way. L barely notices that, though, his head still churning with confusion and embarrassment.  _ ‘Don’t think too much about it,’ _ he’d said, and L had almost felt relieved – things could just return to normal, if they both decided not to think about it, not to talk about it. But in the midst of that relief L couldn’t deny the vague disappointment that nibbled at his stomach, either. And then: ‘ _ Maybe you can join me if you like…’ _

What in the hell did  _ that  _ mean?

“What’s his problem?” A wrinkles her nose at the closed bathroom door, her expression shifting from annoyance to curiosity when she sees L’s face. “You alright?” 

“No. Yes.” He blinks rapidly and darts off the bed, hand already outstretched for the door. “I’ve got to debrief Watari.” In the cool, noiseless hallway he presses up against the wall and does the best he can to tame his whistling breath. 

‘ _ Maybe you can join me if you like…’ _  His mind is filled with images that he doesn’t quite dare look at.

“Yes?” Wammy opens the door wide for him to come in. L doesn’t even remember knocking. 

“How is everything going so far?” Wammy takes a seat at the small desk and gestures at what looks like a large history book. “You’ve caught me doing some pleasure-reading, I’m afraid.” 

“Quite well,” L says, the words robotic. He crouches carefully on the edge of the bed and stares down at his bare toes. “I’m looking for more information on a Paul Christian. He’s around sixteen years old and probably from Bristol, judging by the accent.”

Wammy scratches the info down on a pad of hotel stationery. “I’ll certainly see what I can do.” He pauses, surely noting by now how L can’t seem to meet his eyes. “Anything else, L?” 

“Yes.” L swallows, still not daring to look up. “I have a question and I’d like to be able to ask it… without any questions about my question.”

Turning that over for a moment, Wammy nods crisply. “Of course.”

“How are you supposed to know if someone fancies you?” Hearing the words from his own lips humiliates L to the core. He wasn’t meant for a life where he’d ever ask that question and actually care about the answer. 

“Oh.” Wammy falters, and L instantly wishes he could fast-forward to the end of the conversation. Sensing L’s discomfort, Wammy recovers quickly, tipping back in his chair and pinching the end of his mustache. “Well, teenagers and pre-teens often lack confidence in matters of sex and romance. Some adults too, in fact.” L dares to dart his eyes up at the slight wistfulness in Wammy’s voice, but he doesn’t pause long enough for him to wonder about it. “So, one might betray their feelings by turning shy, or behaving awkwardly. They might even avoid the other person if they fear their feelings won’t be reciprocated.” 

_ Or start sleeping in their own bedroom?  _ L traces the aimless pattern of the bedspread with his finger. “Thank you, that’s very helpful.” Dry, like the answer doesn’t mean a thing to him at all. 

Wammy’s chair creaks a little closer. “No questions, but do let me know if you require more clarification.” 

The sound of L’s fingernail against the fabric is soothing and hypnotic. “May I stay here while you read? Just for a bit.” 

“Of course.” The gentle swish of pages falling open. The faint odor of cigarette smoke under lemon air freshener. Yes, there are more things to focus on than just the pictures in his head. Rain starting to tap on the windows. The prickle of his own hair against his cheek.  _ What would his hair feel like? _

“Stay as long as you’d like.” 

* * *

 

B is just finishing up in the shower when the door opens.  _ Fuckin’ A. _ She wouldn’t do this to Lawliet, but he never bothered to tell her to fuck off. He hears the flare of a lighter.

“So. Do I even need to say anything, at this point?”

_ At least I wasn’t jerking off.  _ He regards her from behind the curtain, “Fuck off, Adder. I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m trying to help you, dumbass,” 

“Help me what?”

“Come on, Backup. I don’t even need to be the youngest, best detective in the world to see you’re making a fool of yourself around L for a reason. Wouldn’t have pegged you for a queer, to be honest, given how much time you spend ogling my chest.”

“Second-best. And you can fuck right off.” His face burns.  _ Great. Now I have to deal with her, too.  _ He takes small solace in knowing she doesn’t know a lick of the full story. 

_ At least she doesn’t know how bad I fucked up. _

“I said I was trying to help you, wasn’t I?” she lets out a gust of smoke.  _ She must have palmed the cigarettes from Maria _ . B didn’t know A smoked. But she seems practiced at it. 

B turns off the water, resigning himself to the conversation, unable to hope that she might actually know something he doesn’t, about how to talk to someone you’re crushing on, “Pass me my towel.”

Okay, so he was calling it a crush now.  _ It’s out in the open. I can’t pretend it’s nothing anymore.  _

A obeys, so at least she’s somewhat sincere, “So does he know yet?”

“Uh. Pretty sure he knows something is up.”  _ That’s the fucking understatement of the year. _ He hopes he isn’t blushing too hard. A just takes a drag of her cigarette and looks up with disinterest. 

“Yes, well. You haven’t exactly been subtle, Backup. Not smart,” she tucks her hair behind her ear, “If you want someone to want you, you can’t show it. You have to make yourself perfect, implacable, unattainable. Make yourself someone they  _ yearn  _ for.”

“Yeah, um. How’s that again?”

“Play hard to get. Stop staring at him, stop mumbling nonsense at him, don’t even give him the time of day. You might have fucked it up too far already, looking desperate like that, but I think you’re pretty enough to draw his attentions back. It’s L. Make yourself a mystery.”

_ Right, that actually…sort of makes sense _ . When he thinks about it. B wasn’t exactly trying to be strategic, since he wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted just yet. But hell, it was out there, and  _ not  _ thinking clearly hasn’t gotten anywhere, “Alright, you’re right. Yeah. That’s a good thought. Wait, did you just call me fucking pretty?”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Backup. But yes. Maybe I should have seen it coming that you’d be a faggot.”

“Do you think uh. He likes guys too?”

“Fuck if I know. Besides, that’s entirely down to you, and your skills,” she runs the russet crimson over her lips, straightening her bra, “Now. Do I look pretty?”

He stares at her a moment, trying to decide if the question is honest, “Yeah, Ace. You look good.”

She smiles like quicksilver back, “Good.” 

Lawliet doesn’t return to the room for another twenty minutes at least, and when he does, he’s all business, not even looking at B. His voice is even stiffer than usual, “Are both of you quite finished?”

B tugs on his leather jacket and stares at his shoes, putting on a brave face, “Right, uh. Let’s get dinner. Keep an eye out for the DARQs. Hopefully we can nab a table with one of them. Do you think we should, uh. Split up our efforts for dinner? So we can cover more ground?”

_ Playing hard to get, or whatever the hell she meant by that. _

* * *

The half hour of so in Wammy’s room leaves L more calm, and determined not to let his confusion distract him from doing his best work on this case. B makes it easy for him by keeping his eyes permanently trained on the ground, never once flicking up to meet L’s face. 

“Let’s see what the crowd in the restaurant is like before we decide if we’ll split up or not.”

“Good idea, Luke.” A’s smile is a little too sharp and knowing for L’s liking, and fresh anxiety blooms in his stomach when he realizes that A and B were alone together the whole time he was with Wammy.  _ What did they talk about? _

He shoves the question aside by stepping out into the hallway, gesturing for them to follow. 

Downstairs is an absolute madhouse. The hotel restaurant is large, with funky metal sculptures mounted on the wall and a number of circular booths and tables, but there isn’t nearly enough room for all of the DEFF Con attendees to fit comfortably. The Con organizers have arranged for a buffet, probably so people will feel free to take their food out into the lobby or back to their hotel room, but most people seem intent on mingling in the restaurant itself. 

“Alex! Luke! Brian!” A familiar voice calls to them from one of the booths situated close to the buffet. It takes a few seconds for L to recognize Maria without her Han Solo costume, but the red lips and perpetual cigarette are a dead giveaway. Without the wig her hair is blond, bobbed smartly to her shoulders, and she wears a tee shirt emblazoned with a big-eyed girl in a leopard-print bikini.  _ Urusei Yatsura,  _ the text below reads. 

“Come sit with us! Just squeeze in.” She makes a waving motion as they approach. There’s a guy on either side of her, one of them looking out of place in a Manchester United shirt and wrap-around sunglasses. L hangs back for a moment, jostled and bustled by several people heading to the buffet, while B slides onto the circular bench, followed by A.  _ Good.  _ He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to endure a whole meal pressed up close to B and his leather jacket. L takes a seat next to Mr sunglasses, instead, only realizing once he sits down that it means being directly opposite from B. Their eyes meet briefly, then immediately jump away. 

“This is Liam and Stevie,” Maria points a cigarette are her two friends. Liam – the one who isn’t wearing sunglasses – must be eighteen because he’s sucking down a pint of lager as if he’s hoping to get drunk as quickly as possible. “You guys want drinks?” She waves down a harried looking waiter, who takes their order for three cokes with hardly more than a nod. 

L folds his hands into his lap and looks around the restaurant, wondering how they’ll ever get any investigating done in such a chaotic environment. 

* * *

 

The thrum of activity keeps B’s eyes sharp and his ears full of music, voices. He wraps his lips around the soda straw and focuses on his surroundings.  _ It’s been a good weekend for seeing things right, even though everything else has gone to shit. _

Staying in character can help, he finds. He clocks one of the DARQ kids, bright green sneakers, at the bar but isn’t quite sure how to bring them over just yet.  _ Night is young and the energy is good. Plus Maria’s table-mates look interesting _ . 

B turns his attention pointedly away from Lawliet, and A is already flashing a red-lipped smile for the introductions, “I’m Alex, and this is Brian, and Luke.”

“No relation to Skywalker, right?” Stevie nods at Lawliet, but B doesn’t turn to see his reaction. Liam just drains his beer, reaching for the second that the waitress puts down. 

“Jesus, you might wanna slow down there, buddy,” “Did you have a breakup or something?”

The older boy, Liam Beckett shakes his head and rolls his eyes a little, “Some issues with work.”

“That’s rough, mate,”  B takes a sound sip of his coke like he relates. Brian does, he’s decided, “I just started my first job at a movie theater, and I already got into shit with my boss last week for trying to use the computer system. He laid off a little when I showed him some shortcuts with the spreadsheets though.”

Liam smirks a little at that, “People over thirty don’t know shit about how to use them.”

“I know  _ exactly _ what you mean,” A cuts in with a smile. They trade stories that just edge on hacking, with A’s being more grandiose and edging on some of QQ’s own exploits. Perhaps a little too much so.  _ But we wanna get noticed as QQ, right? _ Lawliet doesn’t seem to be displeased with it, and no one takes notice when he starts scribbling down notes in what B well knows is their personal cipher. 

“What are you in shit for anyways?” B asks with a grin, once Liam is halfway through his third beer.

“Warsaw, man, they got Warsaw– ow!” Liam grabs his leg, obviously having been kicked under the table. Stevie makes a strained smile, “Look, it doesn’t matter. I fucked up a bit. A lot.”

_ Warsaw… _ B feels he should remember that from one of their flashcards. Before he can pluck up the courage to throw a questioning glance at Lawliet, however, someone else joins them at the edge of the table, right next to A.

“Evening, boys, ladies,” the kid’s name is  _ Frederick Campbell, _ but it’s the white of the scar on his arm that B focuses in on.  _ Well, it looks like good things come to those who wait. _

* * *

 

The guy looming over them is scrawny but tall, with a rather revolting layer of apricot-coloured fuzz on his chin, his features sharp and jackal-like. Maria frown and blows an ample stream of smoke in his direction. “Our table’s too full for another, if you’ve not noticed.”

“That’s fine, the view’s best from here.” A reference to Maria and A’s chests, no doubt, as the bloke makes no effort to disguise his leering. He leans in even closer to A, and L catches sight of the scar on his arm.  _ One down…  _

A pulls back from the interloper a little, a smirk stretching across her face. “Where’s your gas mask? Letting it air out for the night?”

If the guy is surprised that he’s been fingered as a DARQ, he doesn’t show it. “Why? You like the gas mask? Kinky girl, are you?”

Stevie snorts into his drink and Maria tosses a balled-up napkin at the DARQ’s face, which misses its mark and bounces into L’s lap, instead.

A shrugs and lights a cigarette of her own. “It would just save us from having to endure your rancid breath, that’s all.”

The DARQ’s predatory calm finally cracks at that, his face twisting into an ugly snarl. “That’s it,  _ bitch _ . You think you can just–”

He’s interrupted when another person slams into him, their bodies hitting the edge of the table and nearly tipping over the drinks. “Sorry!” The newcomer gasps, looping an arm over the DARQ’s shoulder. “My friend’s been drinking.” He smiles sheepishly – a dark-haired, utterly average looking fellow – and lowers his voice, “Testing out the new fake I.D., you know.”

He apologizes again and drags his belligerent friend away, the bright green soles of his sneakers catching L’s gaze. “That was awkward,” he says solemnly, doodling on the corner of a napkin. The doodling not only allows him to make a random note when he needs to, but it also saves him from having to look up at B too often.

“Sorry, Alex.” Maria reaches across the table to pat the side of A’s arm. “Hope you’re not on the hunt for a boyfriend at DEFF con, because most of the chaps here have the social skills of a fruit fly.” 

“Why would I want a boyfriend?” A says breezily, taking a long sip of her coke. 

Maria snaps her fingers. “Good attitude. Just don’t tell Joey you heard that from me.”

“What about that Warsaw file?” L interjects, deciding that Luke probably also has the social skills of a fruit fly. He taps his pen near Liam’s pint glass. “That’s a lot harder to get a hold of than Zardoz, even.” The Warsaw file is a computer security document that discloses known system weaknesses, and a tremendous prize for any hacker who gets their hands on it. 

“Yeah, I know.” Liam droops miserably over his beer. “I was gonna sell it to the highest bidder, but some knob stole the floppy! Right out of the hotel safe, even.” 

_ Safe-cracking?  _ Now that’s interesting. L jots down a ciphered note to check out the specs on the hotel room safe, later.

“That’s rough, mate.” B clinks his glass of coke into Liam’s beer glass, his expression so sincere that it makes L smile despite himself, and forget for a moment that just an hour or so ago, he and B were discussing _ jerking off _ . And then A’s fist slams on the table, shocking him back to attention.

“Shit.” Her teeth are gritted together, fingers pressed to her temple. 

“What’s wrong?” Stevie’s hands flutter in concern across the table. 

“I’ve got a headache coming on. A bad one. Let’s go back to the room.” She stubs out her cigarette in a flourish, then snatches B’s wrist and drags him out of the booth. “Come on, Luke!” 

L pockets his doodled-on napkins and darts upright. “Um, sorry. My cousin’s a bit intense. Jet lag, I think.” And then he dives out of the booth and follows his friends through the crush of people, wondering what the hell kind of spontaneous improv A has decided to spring on them this time.

* * *

 

B follows A with more than a little irritation, reluctant to leave the conversation when they had gotten so far. As soon as they’re out of the sightlines of the bar, A slumps her arm onto Lawliet, who almost collapses under her weight. 

“The hell, A?” the jealousy flares up first, but it quickly turns to worry when B notices how limp she is. 

“The fuckers drugged me. I’m going to fucking  _ kill  _ them,” her words are already starting to slur a bit, “Come on, hurry up, Luke, let’s get upstairs. I want to get this shit out of me.”

_ Jesus Christ. _

B slips his arm under hers other side and gives Lawliet a hand helping her into the elevator.  _ We really underestimated those fuckers, just thinking of them as desperate losers. _ B really should have known better. He knows too well there’s nothing desperate people won’t try. 

“We can’t tell Watari,” Lawliet says softly, quite pale when he unlocks the door. 

“ ‘Course not,” A manages to smile weakly, “We’ll handle it. Come on, get me in the bathroom. Fuck.” 

“I’ll call for room service, how much did you drink?” Lawliet’s mouth is drawn in a hard line, his hand gripping the phone tightly, “Consuming food will lessen the effects.” 

“Not a lot,” A mumbles back, tumbling onto the floor in front of the toilet. She sticks her finger down her throat and makes a horrible retching noise. Nothing yet. B reaches a hand tentatively over to rub her back. After a moment more of raw gagging, the splash of coke empties into the toilet, the acidic smell scraping up old memories from B’s nose.  

“You okay?” 

“Dizzy. I think it might be too late,” she pushes herself away from the toilet, propping herself up against the wall of the shower.

“Here, let me get you something to drink, alright,” he was reminded a little bit of his mother on her worst days. B pushes the thought to the back of his mind before it starts to flicker at his vision.  _ Come on. A needs you. Lawliet needs you.  _ He passes her the water, which she drinks very slowly, her brow furrowing with the effort. 

“Thanks,” she slurs a little, leaning into him heavily, “Don’t go anywhere.” 

* * *

 

L sits uneasily at the small table near the windows, watching as B braces a hand against A’s back and feeds her slow sips of water. A is tough, which L knows all too well, but it's nonetheless sobering to think how easy it was to drug her. All it took was a distracting environment and some clumsy sleight-of-hand. 

“It must have been the dark-haired one who got to your drink.” L nibbles on the skin of his knuckle, playing the scene over again in his head. “He accosted his friend and created a disruption. Did you get their names, B?” 

B nods, looking more pale than usual in the stark bathroom lightning. “The one with the scar was Frederick Campbell. Green sneakers was David Mulligan.” 

L makes a note of the names. “They probably slipped you some rohypnol, A. Maybe GHB.”

A groans quietly, groping for B’s hand. “Help me to the bed.” Once upright she walks fairly well on her own, though B keeps an arm looped around her waist, just in case.

“What kind of creep carries drugs like those around?” B’s expression is stormy as he makes a nest of pillows for A to recline on. 

“They’re date rape drugs.” A curls up onto her side, her eyes glassy and far away. “That’s what girls have to deal with, you know. They were probably hoping one of you or some other guy would take advantage of me. Put me in my place.” 

L isn’t sure if this is just A’s usual candor talking, but she seems strangely vulnerable as she shivers slightly on the pillows. “Put you in your place because they suspect you’re Quarter Queen? Or because you claimed to be close to the DARQs?” 

“Does it really matter why?” B ducks his head, quiet as he squeezes A’s feet.

“No.”  _ But we have a target on us that we’ll have to deal with now.  _ L keeps that to himself for the time being – they can confront that later, when A is feeling better. 

A knock on the door announces the arrival of their room service meal: cheeseburgers, french fries, and vanilla milkshakes. While B and L refuel, A sips at her milkshake and manages a few fries, but soon opts to recline on the pillows again, her eyes drooping to half mast. 

“I know I’m still awake but it feels like I’m dreaming,” she says, her voice low and flat. “Will you both come lie down with me?” 

L looks up from his milkshake, straw still clamped between his lips, and meets B’s eyes. He swallows too quickly, the words coming out in a croak: “Sure. Alright.” 

* * *

 

The brief eye contact sends a shot of adrenaline to B’s already overwrought senses. His vision has started to slip a little, painting A’s pale skin to reds and blues underneath her date. Focusing on Lawliet, his usual strategy, seems like the wrong idea right now.  _ But fuck, going out of it isn’t going to help the situation either _ . He is grateful, almost, when A tugs his arm overtop of her shoulder, pulling him to lie down behind her so that his body aligns with hers.

Lawliet arranges himself on her other side, making a small noise of discomfort when she tugs him in close to her front. The three of them fit neatly into each other, A almost ghostlike between them. B is again reminded of how slight she is, when she normally seems so tough and untouchable.

_ How easy it would have been for those fuckers really mess her up. She might not have even known. _ But she would have, B knows well. She’s too smart not to put things together. Perhaps that’s why her fingers shake a little when they let go of his.  _ Or maybe the drugs do that, too. _ Her lipstick smudges the pillowcase as she tries to turn her head against Lawliet’s hair. 

“Thanks, both of you,” she mumbles into Lawliet’s shoulder, “Just so strange. I. Can’t describe it.” 

“S’fine, Ace,” he keeps his voice soft enough not to betray his nervousness, “You okay, too?”

“Sleepy. It’s good. You smell good,” A mumbles, but it’s unclear whether it’s to B or Lawliet. Lawliet  _ does _ smell good though, the scent of his skin creeping under A’s perfume.  _ Bit like dirt, bit like candy. _

B breathes it in, the sweetness of it starting to erode the anxiety in his chest. A gentle warmth starts to grow with A’s slowing breathing, like a single match lighting an unfamilar room.  _ He’s so…close.  _ He uncurls his hands from A’s collarbones, keeping the slight gasp stifled when his fingers graze Lawliet’s bare neck.

_Just get up._ His body refuses to move. _Go on, get up. She’s asleep now._ _Just go._

He still doesn’t move. The warmth in his chest catching into something urgent. But this time, there’s something comforting about it, as if Lawliet’s presence itself is washing him with the quiet heat of a fire. 

_ Just give in _ . B lets his hand drop, fingertips tentatively tucking into the ridges of Lawliet’s ribs. Just barely touching. The birdcage shape of it is so familiar yet so new under his fingers. 

He waits for Lawliet to draw back, for him to draw back, for one of them to come to their senses. His heart feels like it may burst, consuming his chest in flames, but the rest of him is deathly calm.

Neither of them move.

B exhales silently and settles his hand into the shelter of Lawliet’s bones. 

* * *

 

A’s hand is limp against L’s shoulder, her breath slow and deep as she sinks deeper into sleep. In contrast, L is wired awake – B’s fingers are only barely there against his ribs, but the heat of them seeps into L’s shirt, traveling through to the skin below. Closing his eyes does nothing to dim his awareness of that slight touch, so he keeps them wide open instead, watching as the lowering sun fills the room with pink light, then finally vanishes, leaving the room dim and lit by a single lamp. 

In the half-dark B’s hand feels heavier, or maybe it’s just L’s imagination that adds more deliberateness to his touch.  _ Doesn’t matter _ , L’s mind chatters – more than once. He and B have slept in the same bed before, and with A there, too. They’ve bathed together, hugged, and held hands, and it never meant anything more than friendship. Or if it did, then maybe something slightly pathetic, like a replacement for the affection they never got from their parents. 

_ Why does this feel different? _

Because he doesn’t know if he’ll ever feel it again – certainly not tomorrow, when the sun comes up – L lays his hand on top of B’s, his fingertips barely stroking against his knuckles a few times before settling there.  _ Plausible deniability.  _ A needs closeness and comfort, and B has to put his hand somewhere. That’s all.

In the morning, all will be back to normal again.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Famous last words, L. 
> 
> ^^ if you liked this chapter, do let us know in the comments thank youuu!


	4. May 15, 1993

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lowkey NSFW in this chapter, fair warning :) Also, torture...look these kids do a lot they're too young for.

**May 15, 1993**

The low light of the dawn pulls B out of his fevered dreams. When he sits up slowly he remembers trying to find someone in a labyrinthine garden, each turn simultaneously the same, yet newly beautiful. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes to take in the sight of Lawliet and A, now spread apart on the two beds.

_Right._

The events of the past few days come back to him with a dizzying pulse. The forest. The con. What he’d said yesterday. Amidst the squirm of embarrassment that paint his cheeks even now, there is a sense that things, though not the same, are not quite terrible either.

 _He…took my hand last night, didn’t he? Or did I dream that?_ B remembers the particular sensation of Lawliet’s slender fingers gently stroking his knuckle, the way his ribs rose and fell under the weight of B’s hand. His heart kicks up to double its speed, and _no, this isn’t gonna help me start the day._

Regardless of what is or is not happening with Lawliet, they have lost time to make up for, and B ought to focus. He slides off the bed, reaching for the black-bound book on the nightstand. Drawing always helped clear his head, both from the lies his eyes tell him and the lies he wants to believe about him and Lawliet. Who they are, to each other. _I can’t say we’re just mates anymore. But we’re not anything else either._

He regards Lawliet for a moment, having drawn him umpteen times now. But the last thing he wants is for A or Lawliet to wake up and catch sight of his work. B turns over the events of the night in his mind, searching for the right thing to trigger the memories.

 _Ribcage. That seems an appropriate reminder_. It feels right under his pencil-tip, too. He almost misses the movement when Lawliet tugs himself upright next to A. Lawliet’s sidelong glance towards him, though, is hard to miss. It hits him warmer than the sunlight from the window.

“Morning,” his voice comes out more even than he believed he was capable of. _Well that’s good._

“Drawing something?” the dullness of Lawliet’s tone hardly matches the intensity of his gaze, which he drops to the bed after a breath of a second, slipping out to pad over to the table.

B nods seriously, almost closing the sketchbook, hiding the moment away. But something in Lawliet’s gaze stops him. He turns the unmarked drawing so that Lawliet can see it, “Just some anatomy.”

_Eyes on Me [do not edit or repost]_

* * *

 

L studies the shading of the ribs and sharp details of the spine, half-aware of B’s slow breath. He’s seen B’s anatomical drawings before, and B has done a number of portraits of him, too – but he’s never seen a portrait of his own anatomy.

“I like it,” he says, quiet. He drops his hand to B’s shoulder just long enough to soak up some of his heat, drawing away when he hears A roll over in bed behind him.

“Ohh, my head.” A sits up woozily, her dark blond hair a tangle around her face. “I need to drink some water.”

L brings her a glass, watching her gulp it down until moisture drips from the corner of her lips. “How do you feel otherwise?”

“I’ve been better, but I don’t feel drugged anymore, at least.” She looks down at her feet, still encased in the bright pink-and-green socks, then back up at L and B, dressed in rumpled tee-shirts and jeans. “Did we all sleep in our clothes?”

“Your memory is fuzzy? That’s a side effect of the drug.” L takes the empty glass from her limp hand and returns it to the bathroom.

“What do we do about those fuckers, then?” B sits on the bed next to A, and L notices that his sketchbook is out of sight now.

“We have to carry on with our investigation.” L keeps his voice firm as he gathers a set of clean clothes from his suitcase. “There’s a presentation on advances in internet technology at ten. Should be a good bet that the hacker contingent will be in attendance.”

L showers first, his thoughts seeming to settle when hot water washes over his body. He still doesn’t really know what’s going on with B – what it means or how he feels about it – but it's a mystery that will resolve itself with time and patience.

Wammy’s in the room when he finishes his shower, chatting with A and B over coffee and pastries. “Ah, L. Here’s the information you requested.” He passes over a slip of paper that lists Paul Christian’s date of birth, home address and phone number, school, and other personal information.

“Thank you.” L tucks the paper into his case notes. “I’ll need you to see if you can find anything on Frederick Campbell and David Mulligan next. Between ages fifteen to eighteen, both of them from the greater London area, probably.”

“Of course.”

He can tell from the silent exchange between B and A – knowing looks behind Wammy’s back – that they probably won’t be content to let Frederick and David off with a mere background check.

* * *

 

The ballroom is the location for the showcase, though there’s been some effort to outfit it with sleek banners. A slide projector sits next to a blank white screen. They settle into their seats next to Maria with little more than a nod. B tries not to think about Lawliet sitting next to him, though Lawliet makes that easier by taking out his laptop and affecting an air of disinterest. The presentation does seem to be filled in with more of the elites from yesterday’s throng– B clocks the name of the blonde DARQ as _David Welsh._

_That’s all of those fuckers covered, at least._

The talk is a little dull for Beyond’s liking, though he takes it in with half an ear to chat about later on. Though a sidelong glance at A has their conversation from earlier echoing in his ears. ‘ _Now that I’m up we need to make up for yesterday. Get some intel from them_.’ A had said, cracking her neck, ‘ _Bring your knife.’_

Her sharp eyes flicker occasionally to Mulligan and Campbell, who are lounging at the back. The knife feels heavy in B’s inside breast pocket– it’s just a small switchblade, and has far more practical uses than it does violent ones.

 _But we’ll see if it comes to that._ B is familiar, by now, with the mechanics of the violent ones. A had a talent for catching small animals, and she insisted they ‘practice’ certain mechanics, skill sets on them.

It was a peculiarly non-emotional experience for B, at least. A seemed similarly detached when he’d figured out how to slit open the eyelids of the small rat that she had snapped the toes of one by one. ‘ _Didn’t think you had it in you, Backup.’_

B had always known he had it in him, the tears on his face more of a distant artifact than the fascination he had with the blood coating the knife-tip. His eyes flashed the scene in front of him even now. It had been worth it though, he hadn’t even flinched when they threatened that fucker of a shop owner in Winchester. Stealing from his employees and groping them to boot.

Luckily he hadn’t had to cut all the way through the eyelid. _Though I almost wanted to._

 _“_ Excuse me, is there thought of interfacing this with the web source code?” B recognizes Stevie’s chipper voice interrupting the talk, even from a few rows back. He’s a little grateful for it dragging him back to the hard plastic chairs rather than the image of blood dribbling down the man’s chin. Stevie fires backs another few questions at the presenter, which catches B’s attention.

“He really seems to knows his stuff, huh,” B says it more offhand to Maria, but not without purpose.

Sure enough, she takes the bait and leans over, “He’s a bit of a big deal with the black hats, or so I’ve heard. Poison Gulls, I think they call themselves? He’s a lot more chill about it than most. Not sure he’s that high up in the ranks.”

“Duly noted,” B smirks.

* * *

L is actually interested in the presentation, fascinated as one of the experts up front describes how the web is becoming more available to everyone, not just those with computer skills. A few of the hardcore nerds seems to bristle at that, clearly unhappy at the notion that ‘normal’ people are invading their territory, but L is eager to discover how it will change the whole landscape of crime – and eager to be the one ahead of the curve when it comes to stopping it.

But he’s not so absorbed in the happenings up front that he misses the tidbit Maria drops in B’s ear. Stevie indeed looks a lot more ‘chill’ than someone like Paul Christian, with his showy cape and staff, but as soon as the presentation ends Stevie pushes past Maria and B and looms over L, eyeing his laptop hungrily.

“What’re the specs on your machine?”

“P5 microprocessor,” L says, lowering the computer into its carrying case. “66 megahertz.”

“Pentium?” Stevie lets out a low whistle. “Must have set you back.”

L smiles and pushes his glasses up his nose. “I had to save my birthday money.”

“Where to now?” Maria lights up a cigarette and tosses her lighter to A, who’s wearing her leather skirt again but has paired it with ripped up black tights rather than the green-and-pink socks. With a cigarette in hand, she looks more like an off-duty goth than a computer gamer, though it does suit the slight scowl she’s sporting today.

“There’re some D&D campaigns going on in Salon C.” Stevie clicks some polyhedral dice together in his palm. “Anyone wanna join?”

“I will,” L says decidedly, slinging his laptop over his shoulder. Stevie seems approachable – friendly, even – and tabletop gaming sounds like the perfect opportunity to dig for more info about his connection to p0isoN Lulz.

“I hate D&D.” Maria frowns. “Way too slow for my taste. I think I’ll go see if anyone’s screening anime.”

A slouches in her seat. “Yeah, I think I want to wander around, get the lay of the land.”

“I’ll join you, Alex,” B says, his shoulder grazing L’s as he stands up. His voice is casual, but there’s an urgency to his movements that indicates he and A have hatched some kind of plan between them, probably while L was in the shower this morning.

“Alright. I guess you can find me in Salon C.” He gives A and B his most neutral expression, while curling his hand into a fist over his thumb – the signal for _keep your head down,_ though in this case it might be better translated as _don’t fuck up._

* * *

 

He follows A into the Vendor’s Hall, where she begins to casually peruse the cosplay there. Disguises take time, but he and A have gotten particularly efficient at it. He fingers a purple and white gown that he recognizes from _The Legend of Zelda._

“Yours, Backup?” amusement dances in A’s eyes, and more than a bit of a challenge. She already has a pink dress that belongs to Princess Peach draped over her slender arm.

B affects an air of nonchalance, but can’t fight the flare of competitiveness at her suggestion. He shrugs, “They should be reminded of who they ought not to fuck with.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” she smirks, and purchases both, along with a pair of wigs.

They head back to the room, working busily and silently to get into battle regalia. The dress, regrettably, does not have any pockets, but A throws him a smaller bra of hers, along with a box of tissues. The slight  flare of the dress emphasizes his already narrow hips in the right way. He and A have tried disguises like this before many times, but he’s only cross-dressed for a case once. _Didn’t have to say much for that, either._

 _How hard can it be, though?_ He applies the lipstick and blush to create a feminine illusion, then A lets him do a bit of a touch up on her face. They’ve perfected their rhythm by now. It’s one of the few parts of cases they work in without fighting.

“Shouldn’t be too hard to get the two of them to invite us back to their room. Let me do the talking, your voice will give us away,” with the last words, she affects a smoky, older tone to her voice. B bites back a glare. His voice acting isn’t bad, but it has a tendency to crack at inopportune times.

“We’ll need to let Lawliet know where they take us, just in case,” B adjusts the wig overtop of his curls while A tucks her hair into a bun.

“That’ll waste our time. You know we’re here to do the things L can’t. It’s not as if he can be of any help,” the barest trace of contempt curls at her lips.

“Don’t be stupid. Ace, you know what they did to you last night. I’m not underestimating these fuckers.”

“Fine. It might make my life more difficult, but I suppose I can handle it. Let me do the approach.”

Once they’re fully unrecognizable, A struts over to Mulligan. B can tell from a distance that her persona for ‘Peach’ is completely different from ‘Alex’– something giggly and wide-eyed that both Mulligan and Campbell seem to be eating up. With one hand behind her back, she taps out the room number, just like they planned.

 _Nice work, Acey._ He’s got just over three minutes to get the message to Lawliet. Scribbling ‘ _Room 403′_ onto a piece of paper, he slips into the hubbub of Salon C, spotting Lawliet after a moment of scanning the numerous tables of colorful game markers and dice.

Even though he knows from looking that he’s unrecognizable, B’s skin crawls under the gaze of Lawliet’s game-mates. Paul, alias Zaphod, even gives him a look that seems….appraising. _Bet he does that with anyone who has tits, though._ Maria stares at him a little too curiously.

 _Just…make it seem natural._ He arranges his features in an approximation of ‘a shy flirt’, (which really doesn’t take that much acting), and slips the piece of paper under Lawliet’s game cards.

“Thirty minutes,” he whispers in Lawliet’s ear, then hurries out the way he came.

* * *

 

The campaigns are already in full swing by the time Stevie leads L to Salon C, so they opt to listen in on Liam’s group first, who are working on the ‘Ravenloft’ module. Seeing Liam reminds L of the _Warsaw_ floppy that was stolen right out of his hotel safe, and L squeezes his laptop case hard between his feet, listening as the group of teens spin out a tale about the Demiplane of Dread and its resident Darklords. He’s played a few modules with Harold and some other kids, back at Wammy’s, but doesn’t have much patience for the elements of high fantasy, nor for the idea that success and failure can be determined by the roll of a dice.

Two of Stevie’s friends approach him after twenty minutes or so, asking if he and L want to sit in for them while they head out for some lunch. L nods to Stevie in agreement, and they end up at a table tackling ‘White Plume Mountain,’ with L playing as a Rogue, Stevie as a Cleric. Paul Christian is there too, reigning as Dungeon Master. The story-line is a fairly straightforward dungeon crawl involving travel into a volcano for three epic weapons, each possessing its own sentience. L smirks at the ridiculousness of the concept, but soon enough is invested in the game-play, rolling the dice with such deep concentration that he almost jumps when frothy, satiny fabric brushes his arm and familiar fingers slip something under his palm.

“Thirty minutes.” The words are a warm buzz, and L tilts his head up just in time to see B’s pink lips smile – then he’s gone in a gust of faint perfume.

_Games and Dice [do not edit or repost]_

“Blimey, who was that?” Stevie asks in a low voice. “Did you just get her phone number or something?”

“Apparently.” L tucks the slip of paper into his pocket, noticing that Maria’s lingering nearby now, looking curiously bored for someone who’s been to DEFF con before. Before he can strike up a conversation with her, Stevie’s friends return from lunch, eager to take their place at the table again.

“Want to grab a bite at the coffee stand?” Stevie asks as they wander out of Salon C.

L checks his watch. “I’ve got to find my cousins in thirty minutes or so, but sure.”

Compared to yesterday, the Atrium is almost empty, a light rain tapping on the tall glass windows. They both order coffee and pre-made sandwiches from the cashier, taking their food to a table under a giant rubber plant.

They chat about computers for a while, the various BBSes they like to visit, the programs they’ve written (mostly an act on L’s part, but a fairly convincing one), the bugs they’ve tackled. None of the conversation seems to implicate Stevie as a member of p0isoN Lulz – not until he’s munched his way through most of his sandwich and takes a deep, bracing breath. “So…”

L pauses over his coffee cup, both curious and on-guard. “So?”

Stevie folds his hands together, his expression very serious. “’The owls are not what they seem.’”

In the time that it takes L to blink he’s already placed the phrase: _Twin Peaks_ , a television show that he quite enjoyed until the supernatural elements shaped the mystery plot into something inconceivable. Still, he can tell from Stevie’s expectant look that this is a test of some kind, and a quick search of his memory provides him with the correct reply.

“’With chemicals, he points.’”

Stevie laughs in relief. “Oh, thank god. I was worried I might be wrong. Are you Zaphod? No, wait – Limbo. Am I right?”

L shakes his head lightly. “Neither. I’m not part of p0ison Lulz.”

“Shit.” Stevie pales significantly. “How did you know that I was –”

“Just a guess. You don’t know the members of your own group?” L takes a calm sip of his coffee, as if the answer doesn’t matter to him much. “That’s a clever way to maintain secrecy.”

Stevie doesn’t look happy at being discovered, but nods his head anyway. “Look, Dread Savant can’t find out. He’ll come after me, otherwise.”

“Really?” L adopts an air of surprise. “I though the Lulz were all about pranks and fun.” _And Dread Savant’s the ring leader._ Useful information, but not as useful as knowing his face and name.

“Nah, there’s some serious operations going on.” Stevie looks both proud and a little nervous, but it’s clear that he’s already worried that he’s said too much.

“Don’t worry.” L gives him his most trustworthy smile. “It’s not just the owls that aren’t what they seem.”

“Ah.” Stevie leans back in his chair, realization settling over his features. “God, you’re not Quarter Queen, are you? She’s all Zaphod ever talks about in chat. He’ll be gutted if he finds out she’s not a real girl.”

“No." L smiles enigmatically. "But I have it on good authority that QQ’s a real girl.”

Stevie seems satisfied with that, as if they’ve both revealed a little more than they ought to, and are on even footing now. “Ha, really? Mind if I pass that along to Zaphod?”

L shrugs and smiles, never one to turn down an advantage.

“Be my guest.”

* * *

 

“Rianne! Rianne!” A waves dramatically, so that her tits bounce up and down. _Yup, she sure knows how to use that._ He steps across the crowded room to join them, “These boys are going to show us how to beat _Link to the Past._ ”

“Hey, I’m Freddie. You’re cute. Like Laura said you’d be.”

“David,” neither of them really look at his face when they introduce themselves, but ‘Rianne’ settles for a coy wave, then looks down at the ground.

“Rianne is shy,” A nods to the Mulligan and Campbell, who are sizing B up with a bit of an appreciating glance. He could get used to this, he supposed. _It’s an improvement over serving fists most of the time._

“No chatter is just fine by us, ladies,” Mulligan leers a little before offering his arm to B. B smiles (trying not to make it look forced), and allows himself to be led in the elevator. Mulligan slides a hand conspicuously over his ass in a way that can’t be an accident.

 _Alright, so other things do take some getting used to._ Mulligan smells like sweat and rubber, likely from the mask, and his brown hair is more than a little stringy. B slips an arm around Mulligan’s waist right before they go into the room, blinking through the mascara on his eyelashes.

Which puts him in a perfect position to flip Mulligan to the floor as soon as the door shuts behind them. He hears the distant _slam_ of Campbell's head on the wall, but is busy focusing on restraining Mulligan’s desperately flailing arms, while folding out his knife. The kid’s a shitty fighter, even if he is bigger than B.

B ignores the resounding pain flashing red through his eyes when Mulligan manages to kick his shins, and puts him in a chokehold. Even that doesn’t stop his struggling until the metal of the knife grazes his throat. There is a sustained gasp as Mulligan realizes what the cold sensation means.

“Ah, ah,” B manages a feminine roll to his voice, and Mulligan goes limp in his arms. _That’s right, fucker. Not as helpless as you thought we were, huh?_

“Oh my god. Oh my god did you just kill Freddie?”

“Leave the questions to us, Davey,” A coos, producing a length of rope from around her chest, “And do hold still, Rianne isn’t the best with the knife.”

He doesn’t struggle, though B keeps the knife secured around his neck until A finishes knotting him to the chair, blindfolding and gagging him. They take the time to deal with tying up Campbell, just in case, though B estimates with the hit A gave him he wouldn’t be up for another hour, and possibly with a bad concussion.

“Holy fuck, holy fuck,” Mulligan spits when they remove the gag. B would think he was angry, if the shake in his bound hands didn’t give away his terror.

“We already know you’re with DARQ Anomaly, so don’t bother to deny it. You’re going to tell us all about the real purpose of the group. We’ll know if you lie,” A smiles ear-to-ear. She’s in her element here.

“Look, there’s nothing to know about DARQ. We try and fuck up government websites for fun, that’s it, just leave us alone–”

“Left eyebrow,” A states coldy, and B presses the knife at the right place underneath the blindfold, noting the way the terror explodes into Mulligan’s neck, his Adam’s apple ratcheting back and forth. He barely has to draw blood before Mulligan screams and B claps a hand over his mouth.

“Stop, god, please stop, I’ll tell you what you want to know!” _They don’t last very long with the eyes._ B stares at the tears streaming down Mulligan’s face with a measure of abstract interest. Mulligan starts sobbing now, “Fuck is this about the porn? I knew we shouldn’t have taken the money, I just knew it. Fuck.”

“I’m not interested in your pathetic excuse for a sex life, I want to know where DARQ gets it’s funds from,” A is getting impatient already, tilting Mulligan’s head back sharply, getting in his faith.

“That’s it, we get their funds from them– and I wouldn’t look at that shit, it’s fucked up. Look, DARQ has nothing to do with the porn, it’s those guys you want. We just set up the BBSes for them, it’s a distribution deal. Lets us get the tech we want.”

B and A exchange a glance. _True_ , A signs to him. B agrees. The kid is way too terrified to lie at this point. _So the DARQ aren’t the ones we want. But we might need to look into this shit later._

 _Let’s go._ He signals A urgently, _we have what we need._ Besides, time is running tight. A shakes her head, puts a hand almost gently on Mulligan’s neck, “You’re still not telling us the full story. You drugged a girl last night, didn’t you?”

Mulligan whimpers, but clams up again. A takes his hand behind the chair almost gently, “You thought she’d learn a lesson, hmm? I should cut off your balls.”

 _This is going too far,_ B’s thoughts are distant, but the adrenaline is sharpening his vision amidst a barrage of memories, and it feels too close to something they _should_ be learning, even if this isn’t the case they’re after.

“Look it didn’t mean shit, I–”

“Shut up,” A replaces the gag, then takes his hand again.There is a resounding _CRACK_ followed by a muffled scream, over and over. She takes the gag off, “Are you finished? Because you have nine other fingers I’d be happy to break. Tell me where you got the drugs from.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he moans, “You’re Deneuve, aren’t you? They said you might come. The guys who paid us off, they gave us the drugs. And they said you’d come, if we didn’t watch it.”

It’s just then a knock sounds at the door. B almost jumps out of his skin, but A is quick to gag Mulligan again. Luckily the pattern is one he recognizes.

* * *

 

The door to room 403 opens up on a scene that is surreal in its mixture of absurdity and barbarism: David Mulligan, blindfolded and tied to a chair, blood on his tear-streaked face, his friend Frederick Campbell crumpled and unconscious on the floor. A lords over the former in her pink cupcake of a dress, her cheeks fevered with excitement. B has a more color than usual, too, his eyes glittering, muscles tensed to pounce.

Mulligan makes wild, guttural noises behind his gag when he hears the sound of L’s soft footsteps, and is immediately smacked on the side of the face for his troubles.

“Quiet, you idiot.” Despite the snarl in her voice, A looks enormously pleased with Mulligan’s desperation.  

B whispers into L’s ear the info they extracted out of Mulligan: BBS space for some kind of porn trade, but nothing about bank fraud phreaking. L listens numbly, watching as the hostage squirms in his chair, gasping when A playfully drags her fingernails down the side of his neck. These are his partners, and it isn’t the first time he’s caught them reveling in their own capacity for violence. With A he’s come to expect it, but B – B touches his wrist while he whispers, his skin milky under the gauze of pink blush. B has the capacity for so much more than drawing blood, and sometimes L worries that he hasn’t done enough to make B know that. Especially in moments like these, where violence is the means to a valuable end.

“…And he thinks A is Deneuve.” B’s whisper finally trails off, his fingers leaving L’s wrist. _Deneuve_ , a name L has heard more and more, of late. More vigilante than a detective, he’s someone that most law enforcement agencies would rather see behind bars than work with.

L nods and moves toward the chair, Mulligan freezing when he hears the footsteps approaching. L loosens the bindings and places a hand on Mulligan’s trembling shoulder, taking in a few deep breaths before he speaks.

“I’m Deneuve.” He keeps his voice low enough to disguise it, nearly whispering. “DARQ Anomaly isn’t welcome at DEFF Con. Tell the rest of your gas mask wearing friends and leave the hotel in the next half-hour.”

Mulligan nods frantically, and A lowers the gag long enough for him to speak. “Okay. Alright. I’ll do whatever you say.”

L spares a glance at Campbell, who appears to be coming around, groaning quietly into the carpet. “You’d best get your friend to hospital, too. He has a head injury.”

L makes sure the hallway is empty before they leave, leading them to a service stairway that they take all the way up to their own floor, not willing to risk anyone seeing A and B in their costumes. With the door to their room safely locked behind them, A collapses onto the bed and kicks her feet in the air.

“Fuck! That was a job well done!” She rolls around in her pink dress and wriggles out of it, bouncing upright in nothing but her bra and torn black tights.

L deposits his computer case on the desk, quickly scribbling down notes on the day's events so far. DARQ Anomaly is far from clean, but they’re not the ones he’s after this time. But p0isoN Lulz is into something serious, according to Stevie. Odd are that they’re the phreakers he’s looking for.

“I need a cigarette.” A zips back into her leather skirt outfit, fluffing her hair out of its bun. “I think I’ll head downstairs and see if I can get someone to buy me a pack. Back in a bit!” And with that she breezes out of the door, the terrorism of the last hour or so already forgotten. B, in contrast, is sat on the bed with his knuckle in his mouth, gnawing pensively.

“Who broke his finger?” L asks quietly, after a moment.

* * *

 

“That was Ace— I don’t do hands,” B mumbles, pulling the itchy wig off his forehead, “I only got as far as nicking his eyebrow. That’s all it took, really.”

 _It really didn’t take much. The gas-masks were all for show._ Still, the crack of Mulligan’s pinky echoes in B’s ears. He glances down at L’s elegant hands, and swallows, hard. Breaking fingers is such a typical threat technique, the bones thin and brittle there. He can see it in the delicate wrinkle of Lawliet’s beautiful knuckles.

There’s very little B hasn’t thought about trying. But hands he doesn’t think he could ever stomach.

“Let’s hope the DARQs are all paranoid enough to not file a report,” Lawliet takes a seat next to him on the bed, but doesn’t move any closer.

Normally he’d take Lawliet’s hand, let a familiar squeeze bring him back to reality, but that feels like it would have more significance than he’s ready for. Lawliet seems equally distant, his mouth turned down with a melancholy B can’t quite place, finger jammed under his lip.

 _Is this about the case– or is it about me?_ B isn’t sure he wants to know.

“Look, don’t worry about it. We got what we needed, and they’ll pin it on Deneuve if it goes any further. So A went a little far, yeah, but can you really blame her?”

* * *

 

“She seems cheered up now, I guess.” L sucks idly on the end of his index finger. He’s not a girl and doesn’t know what it’s like to endure the threat of predatory, sexual behavior, but he can imagine that it’s unpleasant. Even so, he’s pretty sure that A sometimes looks for reasons to go too far, and he’s pretty sure that B knows that, too.

“But anyway –” L draws his knees up to his chest “– I’m not worried.” And he’s not, the tightness in his chest already dissolving as the strange scene from earlier fades from his mind, replaced with the familiar warmth of B’s presence.

He’s all at once aware that they haven’t really been alone since that brief moment when A was in the shower and they’d had that disjointed, confusing conversation about wanking off. Well, L certainly isn’t going to bring _that_ up again. Instead, he picks B’s blond wig up between his thumb and forefinger and dangles it back and forth. “You ought to save this. Pulled that look off well, you did.”

“Yeah?” B stands up and gives his frothy gown a flounce. “That’s mostly thanks to A. She helped set me up.” He takes the three or four steps into the bathroom and starts swiping at his makeup with a tissue.

“No.” L shakes his head and sets the wig aside. “It’s more than just the costume and makeup. A fancies herself a femme fatale, but you pull it off better than she does.” As soon as the words comes out he realizes that it might be a bit of an odd compliment. “A’s just not as comfortable with herself as she pretends to be,” he adds quickly.

“Yeah.” B nods at himself in the mirror. “I think I know what you mean.”

There’s no logic to what happens next. L breathes softly into his cupped palm, watching while B finger-combs through his hair, then reaches down to hike the dress up over his knees, pausing halfway with a quick glance to L. His hand reaches to touch the edge of the door, poised to close it.

“You don’t have to shut it,” L mumbles, though the words are all too audible. His mind flounders for a moment for something to add, like _‘it’s probably hot in there,’_ but everything he comes up with sounds foolish, so he just lets the words lie as they are, lifting his eyebrows just slightly at B’s curious expression, at the pink colour fanning across his throat.

* * *

 

 _Shit– he’s serious._ Suddenly B’s heartbeat ratchets up to twice its speed, his hands shaking a bit as he slides the nylons that A had lent to him off his thighs. He’d changed in front of Lawliet loads of times before, but this is an entirely different game.

 _Make yourself someone he_ yearns _for._ A’s words whisper knowingly to him, and he slows his pace, being careful not to look at Lawliet. As if this kind of sensuality was something casual, familiar to him. His thumb runs along the inside of his smooth calf. _And maybe it is a little, to Rianne._

When B stands to full height he is struck by the peculiar freedom that a dress lends to having a hard-on. The outline of it is just barely visible under the layers of white fabric and the decorative belt. He unclips the decorative pieces almost businesslike, reaching along his spine for the zipper before he loses his nerve.

 _Come on, just. Take it slow._ The dress slides down his back, the sensation enough to make him shiver, never mind the idea that Lawliet might b _e watching_. Underneath, he’s just wearing a pair of boxers and A’s red-and-lace bra. The bra takes a little more fumbling than he’d like to take off.

In the mirror B dares to steal a glance at Lawliet’s black eyes, practically glowing like coals from across the room. He has one finger in his mouth, biting at it like he’d like nothing better than to swallow B whole. B glances sharply back to the his own body, only covered now by his tented  boxers, when the situation washes over him in a rush.

 _Where is this going? He can’t have thought…?_ B doesn’t think he can handle anything close to them jerking off together, or actually _touching_ each other. The thought sends an uncomfortable flare of pleasure and fear straight to his groin, making him a little weak at the knees, but mainly terrified. _I mean, I’ve thought about it enough….but is this going to fuck us up?_

B exhales without looking at Lawliet, then gives him something like a knowing smirk, _just for something to remember this by_ , “I’m just gonna wash off the rest of the makeup.”

He pushes the door shut, but doesn’t lock it, then turns on the shower to icy again before taking off his boxers. He slides to the floor, the adrenaline settling over him along with the freezing water. Starting to parse what he just had the guts to do. _Fuck._ _What the fuck was that?_

* * *

 

L doesn’t know what he expected to happen when he told B he could leave the bathroom door open, but it wasn’t B’s fingers trailing up the inside of his calf, the nonchalant shrugging off of the dress, chest thrust out slightly in the red lace bra. It’s just B, with his bony shoulders and sharp hip bones ( _Scrawny_ , L thinks, then adds, rather sadly, _I’m probably worse_ ), but L’s looking at him and B _knows it_ this time – it shows in his every movement. His arousal is evident from the shape of his boxers, too, and L is no better off, the tightness of his jeans both dimly pleasant and distinctly uncomfortable.

And then B shuts the door and L’s left alone with racing thoughts and pulse, one thought rising above all: _I liked it_. He wants more than anything to do it again, except maybe this time B takes everything off, even his boxers, and touches himself so L can watch – and then maybe L figures out how to do it to himself sometime, if he’s ever actually alone again.

That thought sends him crashing back on the bed with a groan, balling his fists into his eyes to block out the overhead light. He never planned on ending up like this, intrigued by carnal yearnings and wrought with sexual confusion. If Saskia were alive, she’d be disappointed in him. Possibly disgusted. He should get control of himself, before it's too late.

He darts upright at the sound of the jiggling doorknob, quickly relocating to the shelter of the desk just as A waltzes in, a pack of cigarettes and a can of coke in hand.

“Well, I saw Mulligan and some other DARQs heading to the lobby with their luggage, all pale-faced and morbid-looking.” She chortles out a laugh and flops onto the bed. “Good riddance!” She rolls over onto her stomach and peers up at L through her bangs. “What’s wrong? You look peculiar.”

“Hungry, I guess.” He roots around in his backpack for a packet of toffees, popping one into his mouth.

“Is that B in the shower?” She inclines her head toward the bathroom. L nods silently, but her stare only seems to intensify. “Oh god, Lars. I hope you didn’t try anything with him.”

L’s whole body stiffens even as he rolls the toffee around in his mouth and widens his eyes into something like obliviousness. “Hmm?”

“Backup likes to play the tart, if you haven’t noticed. If you pull one of your out-of-nowhere stunts you’ll scare him off.” She lights one of her cigarettes, flicking the ash into her coke can. “He might seduce you himself if you let him work up to it, but until then I’d play dumb, if I were you. Keep your distance.”

L pulls his hair into his eyes and curls his toes around the edge of the desk chair. “I’m sure these would be interesting words, if I could follow the meaning behind them.”

“Yes.” She jabs her cigarette in the air. “Dumb. Just like that.”

There’s a soft creak as B slips out of the bathroom, damp hair clinging to his cheeks as he carries the dress over to the wardrobe and tucks it inside. “Hey,” he gives A a nod, then looks at L without really looking at him. “What’s next on the agenda?”

“I saw Maria downstairs,” A pipes up. “She’s having a room party tonight and we’re invited. Ordering in pizza instead of trying to fight for a seat at the restaurant.”

“That sounds good. ‘Specially after what happened last night…”

They continue to chatter while L lays out his laptop bag and unzips it, only half-listening, really, then ceasing to listen entirely when he lifts open the flap of his bag and sees a DEFF Con guidebook lying there instead of his expensive, top-of-the-line computer.

* * *

 

“Yes, well. We dealt with that though, didn’t we?” Ace draws her long legs up on the bed, giving B a knowing glare before glancing sidelong at Lawliet. B keeps a straight face, but his mind is still swimming with wide eyes and thin lips wrapped around a white finger.

“Something the matter, Lars?”

“Impossible. This has to be a mistake,“ Lawliet has gone quite pale, impassive as he shows the DEFF con guidebook where his laptop ought to be.

“What– your laptop?”

“Oh my God, Lars, weren’t you paying attention at all?” A snickers a little, but falls to a serious expression when Lawliet glares deadpan at her.

“Of course I was, had it on me the entire time I was playing,” Lawliet flips through the compartments to no avail.

“Just when things were starting to go alright,” B forgets for a blessed half a second anything that’s just transpired, and puts a reassuring hand on Lawliet’s shoulder before they both flinch almost imperceptibly away.

 _Not subtle enough_ , B bites his tongue at the way A’s smile perks up. _But what the hell are we going to do about it? And why Lawliet?_ his stomach churns, “Do you think it was one of the Lulz kids? Shit. Do you think they figured us out?”

“That’s extremely unlikely, Backup. They probably stole it for the hardware. It was quite expensive, wasn’t it?” A looks sympathetic, but has a bit of a smirk in her voice.

 _Jesus. We keep underestimating them_. B leans over Lawliet’s shoulder, trying to be reassuring, “I mean, the crypto is good on it, right? There’s no way they can get at the data?”

* * *

 

L stares into the empty slot where the computer should be. “There isn’t much data on it, yet. I’ve only had it for just under a month.” Small favor, that – L is less shocked at the loss of the computer and more gobsmacked at _how._ He’d kept the laptop close all day, and the only moment when his attention might have flagged was when he got absorbed in the ‘White Plume Mountain’ campaign. But even then the laptop bag had been propped against his feet; to swap the machine out with a book would take incredible timing and sleight-of-hand, skills far more impressive than cracking a cheap hotel room safe.

“I don’t think it’s the Lulz. There’s got to be a pro-thief working the Con. First the Warsaw file, now my machine. Probably others’, too.” He’s less alarmed than amazed, almost starting to smile now as he zips the empty case shut. “They made a mistake when they robbed me, though.”

A’s expression is still a little too satisfied for L’s liking, which means its time to reinforce the chain of command. A’s ambitions are useful, most of the time, but less so when they lead her to silently root for the downfall of her own partners.

“Don’t look so smug, _Alex_.” He fixes her with a stony stare. “After all, breaking his fingers didn’t change the fact that Mulligan drugged you right under your own nose.”

She shrugs but pales noticeably, perhaps remembering just how much L knows about the past she tries to desperately to keep hidden. “Well, don’t worry too much. B and I will help you get the computer back. Won’t we, B?”

B nods seriously. “Of course. But how are we gonna manage that?”

“The thief will try to unload the machine quickly, perhaps right here at the Con.” L roots around his backpack until he finds some blank paper and a sharpie marker. _LOST,_ he writes in bold letters at the top of the page, then follows with a brief description of the machine’s external features, along with the number for his latest pager. “But I can offer them more money than any potential buyer can.”

_£10,000 REWARD FOR SAFE RETURN, NO QUESTIONS ASKED._

He turns and presents B and A with the hand-made sign, then tosses B his leather jacket. “Let’s go to the lobby and talk the hotel staff into making copies of this, then we can split up and post them around the convention center.”

It takes them over an hour to plaster the hallways, but L overhears a number of people express wonderment at the high reward. Good – the faster the word gets around, the faster he can get his computer back. Though what L really wants to find out is who the thief _is_ , beyond just someone highly skilled and incredibly, insanely gutsy.

It isn’t often that L is impressed, but this is one of those times.

They run into Stevie, Liam, and Maria in the Atrium, the latter of whom is wearing an Indiana Jones outfit that makes L reconsider the appeal of khaki, and also wonder how B would look in such an outfit – especially with the shirt sleeve half-torn, like Maria’s is.

“You’ll come to my room party tonight, right? Room 622.” She smiles at them eagerly. “It shouldn’t be _too_ wild. This is still DEFF Con, after all.”

“Will Paul Christian be there?” L scoots his fake glasses up his nose. “I think my cousin here was hoping to get to know him better.”

A lets out a mock gasp and pushes him lightly on the shoulder. “Shush! You don’t need to tell the whole world.”

“Really?” Maria wrinkles his nose a little. “Well, I’ll be sure to invite him, then.”

A drops the act as soon as they’re out of earshot and strolling back through the lobby. “Okay, why exactly am I hoping to get to know Paul Christian better? The guy wears a _cape_ , for fucks sake.”

“Because,” L says, punching the lift button for floor eleven. “He’s Zaphod from p0isoN Lulz, and according to Stevie, Zaphod is quite smitten with Quarter Queen. Perhaps you can use that to charm Dread Savant’s real identity out of him.”

“Hmm, yeah.” A crosses her arms loosely over her chest, a small, dangerous smile creeping across her features. “Could be a fun challenge.” Her smile grows a tad wider. “Could be fun, period.”

“Guess we’re going to a party, then,” B says, his words punctuated by the lift’s chime.

* * *

B can hear the croon and thrum of jazz from down the hall as they approach Maria’s room. B recognizes the ambient music as the theme from Goldfinger. _At the end of the day…this might be pretty fun after all._ The afternoon with A seems a distant black mark, already recessing to the space of many memories like it.

The afternoon with Lawliet, less so, but B isn’t sure whether that’s an entirely bad thing.

L knocks on their door and Maria answers, lips red and dressed up in a form-fitting violet dress that looks similar to the Star Trek uniforms.

“Great timing, you three, pizza just got here,” Maria gestures grandly at the room, and B can’t help but grin at her as they step in. _She’s a good friend to have, for people like us._

There’s a respectable group of folks from the con -- Liam sipping the same kind of ale as Maria, waving her over from the corner, Stevie with a few kids yelling at the television screen wired up to DOOM. And as promised, Paul in their corner, arguing with a kid playing Gameboy who can’t be more than fourteen. Maria has pushed the bed up parallel to the wall, leaving space to sit.

The three of them have barely snagged a few slices of pizza when Paul very obviously zeros in on A and Lawliet from across the room (or perhaps just A’s chest). B lets out an annoyed gust of breath. _Well, it’s not like I can be helpful for this one._

“Yeah, since you’re fielding this, Alex, I think I’ll get us some drinks. Any requests?” He steals a glance at Lawliet, trying not to stare at his coal dark eyes for longer than necessary.

* * *

 

“Stevie gave me a coke,” L says, showing B the can. Even though there’s no more than a dozen people in the hotel room, it feels a little crowded, given the room’s size. L crouches down and tucks himself against the wall, A sitting cross-legged beside him, and silently takes account of everyone in the room. The only two people he hasn’t met yet are the kid with the game boy, and another shaggy-haired DOOM player who turns out to be a girl once he gets a good look at her.

As soon as B breaks off to talk to Maria and Liam, Paul zooms across the carpet to where L and A are sitting, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. He’s wearing regular clothes instead of a cape, though his tee-shirt is printed with a long quote from _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy._

“Hey. Can I speak with you for a moment?” He shifts uneasily on his feet, wringing his hands together.

A lowers the crust of pizza she’s been nibbling on and flashes him a bright smile. “Sure.”

“Oh, sorry.” Paul flushes slightly. “I meant him–” he points at L “–Luke, right?”

L nods, just as surprised by this turn of events as A is, her mouth hanging open in a rather unflattering way before she remembers herself and snaps it shut, returning her attention to the pizza.

Paul whisks L out into the hotel hallway, wiping his hands on the back of his trousers, as if his palms are sweating. “Uh. That girl who you were talking to earlier…is she going to show up tonight?”

“Girl?” L blinks vaguely, then remembers how B – dressed as Princess Zelda, no less – whispered in his ear while he was sat at the same gaming table as Paul. “Oh, her.” L clears his throat and presses a finger to his lips for a moment, his drawn-out silence eliciting a hilarious expression of desperation from Paul. “She keeps a bit of a low profile, so I’d not expect her, if I were you.”

“God.” Paul collapses against the striped hotel wallpaper and clutches at his heart. “She was a stunning morsel in a sea of sub-par cosplay. I need to make her my Queen.”

L tries to keep his face as serious as possible. “Queen. Yes, funny you mention that.”

“I knew it!” Paul bursts out, latching on to L’s shoulders. “She’s Quarter Queen, isn’t she? Stevie made it clear that you were acquainted with her. What’s her name? Does she live in London?”

“Hang on, I can’t tell you any of that.” L pauses significantly. “I can pass on your interest to her, though, if you like.”

“You’d do that?” Paul looks so grateful that L almost feels sorry for him. “You’re quite a good man, Luke.” He clasps L’s hand and gives it a hearty shake. “My handle is Zaphod,” he adds, voice low. “Tell her to PM me on Crash Course, Z-Abode, or Skyline sometime.”

“I’ll do that.”

Back in the party, L signals B over, leading him into the dim nook by the bathroom. “You’ll never believe what I just found out. Paul fancies the _Princess Zelda_ he saw earlier today.”

* * *

 

“Christ, you serious?” B sips at his Dr. Pepper, a smile starting to crawl over his face. _Guess those weren’t just empty words from Lawliet._ B steals a glance over at Paul, who has transitioned to schooling Stevie on DOOM strategy with a condescending air. B can’t help the guffaw that sneaks out of him, unable to believe it, “oh God that’s funny. That pathetic fucker.”

“Guess so,” Lawliet looks distant for moment, but B barely has time to think on that before A sweeps over, cheeks flushed.

“What the hell did he want, Luke?”

B gets a hold of his laughter to whisper in A’s ear, “So get this: he’s got a big crush on Rianne. Wow.”

“Oh, that is funny,” A giggles darkly, but her brow is pinched with irritation, “But he’s also after QQ, right?”

“He wants to get in contact with QQ, so we’re changing tactics,” Lawliet inclines his head slightly at B, who nearly chokes on his straw. A gapes.

“You cannot be serious. You made him think  -” A looks back and forth from B to Lawliet. B is a little surprised Lawliet went there, or maybe Paul did. _But then again, it makes sense to stall him, especially if identities are at stake._

“She’ll want to take the conversation online,” Lawliet keeps his voice low, but it’s hard to know who might be listening, even if Liam is cranking up Ace of the Bass, much to the annoyance of Maria, “and I want to find out who took my laptop. Focus on that.”

“Fine. Follow my lead,” A struts over to Liam and Maria. _Always have to lead in something, don’t you Adder?_

“Alright is this a party? How about a game, then? Spin the bottle?”

“Mmm that’s lame, considering there’s only three of us girls,” Maria smirks a little, “Besides, Joey wouldn't like it. What about Truth or Dare? Close enough?”

“Fine by me,” Maria smiles easily and rounds up Stevie, Liam, Paul, and the three of them for the game. B tries to avoid eye contact with Paul (laughing in his face seems like a bad idea) and avoid thinking about Lawliet’s knee pressed against his thigh in the tight circle on the bed.

“Why don’t I let you go first, Alex. Truth or Dare?” Maria nods amicably at A.

“Truth,” A hides a glare behind her white teeth, B can tell. _Maybe shes regretting this dumb shit already._

_Or maybe she’s just messing around again._

“What is your greatest fear?”

“Uselessness. Being useless to everyone,” A draws up her long legs and casts her eyes towards the floor in front of B. B’s chest clenches a little, realizing how close that comes to his own fears. When she glances up again, she looks like herself, “Luke. Truth or Dare?”

* * *

 

Aside from A, L is fairly certain that Stevie, Liam and Paul are the only ones remotely excited by this little venture, while Maria seems merely tolerant, mostly thanks to the new bottle of beer she cracked open before the game started up.

“Luke. Truth or Dare?”

L stares A down for a moment, knowing that she won’t be able to help herself from trying to make him squirm, if only to save herself from her own discomfort. She’s taking Paul’s preference for “Princess Zelda” as a personal affront, and it isn’t even about Paul – she couldn’t care less about him. What she cares about is B having bested her.

And now all three of them are locked in a game of who can be the best liar, and who can be the best at rooting out the kernel of truth amidst the lies.

“Truth.” He tilts his chin up at her, his eyes lazily half-closed.

She flicks on a bright smile. “Have you ever kissed someone before? A proper kiss, mind. Smoochies from aunties and grannies don’t count.”

“Yeah, I have.” It’s a whopper of a lie, but L shapes his answer to be casual, almost as if he’s bored by such a mundane question. It’s enough to make A’s smile collapse with a bit of uncertainty, a sight that makes L’s chest fill with wash of warm, quiet triumph. _I win. I won._

Not everything, though. He distinctly feels B shift beside him, edging away just an inch or so. Just enough so that they’re legs are no longer touching. _Bloody hell._ L hasn’t even had a kiss on the cheek from an auntie or granny. Doesn’t B know that by now?

“Paul,” L says, voice rusty. “Truth or Dare?” He clutches his coke can between his palms, wishing this were all over with already.

Paul thinks it over a minute. “Truth.”

L gives him a slight nod of approval. “Are you a black hat, or a white hat? I know someone who would be interested in your answer.”

The room goes silent, just as L expected. It’s considered poor etiquette to ask a hacker about their affiliation. Even the kid who’s been staring at his game boy looks up, curious.

“What?” Paul makes a scoffing noise, but L detects a shimmer of panic in his eyes. “I’m a white hat, of course. I’d never lower myself to criminal, anti-social activities. That’s for those who don’t know their true place in the world.” He sniffs and nods, satisfied with his own answer.

“Alright, brilliant.” L grins at him and takes another swig of coke.

A few more rounds go by, with Paul daring Maria to stop smoking for a day (“ _no bloody way!”_ ), Maria daring Liam to drink some insidious concoction of beer, cough syrup, and orange soda, and Liam daring A to tell them the colour of her underwear (“pink and grey stripes”). That leaves A in control of the game again, and this time she sets her eyes on B.

“Brian. Truth or dare?”

* * *

 _God fucking dammit._ B has been less than happy with the game since hearing that Lawliet, of all people, had kissed someone. Not that he was letting it show on his face, _since yeah, she might think that was me._

And from the look on her face she was not at all happy about it. _I should have fucking known._

“Dare,” he stares her down calmly.

"I dare you to kiss someone in this room. On the lips.“

 _Fuck. Wasn’t exactly how I saw my first time going._ Anger is boiling under B’s skin, but he forces it back. _Be Brian right now._

“Ugh, Alex,” B makes a disgusted face, but is already going over his options. Kissing any of the guys is going to bring too much attention to him, and kissing A will just be playing into her hands.

_Just pick someone who you can get some practice with._

“Maria. Uh, do you mind?” B keeps his face as neutral as possible.

“Keep it quick and don’t tell Joey,” she shrugs and sets the cigarette on the edge of a glass ashtray. It’s brief and soft, over mercifully quickly. _So that’s all kissing is?_ B thinks he could manage that, licking the taste of nicotine off his lips.

"Thanks,“ he says almost apologetically, and she waves him off. He steals a glance at Lawliet, who looks impassive but slightly tired, “Look, can we play a different game now?”

"Not a bad idea. Does anyone want to make it a nightcap at the pub? I bet the crowds will have died down by now,” Maria stands up and stubs out her cigarette while many of the others nod in agreement.

“Yeah…I think we’ll call it a night,” B wants to get out of there as quickly as possible, before A can try anything worse. _And maybe break her fucking nose for trying that._

As soon as they’re fifty meters down the grey-carpeted hallway, B turns on A, anger coloring the edges of his vision, “Follow your lead while you attempt to fucking humiliate us. Helpful, Adder. Really fucking helpful."

"Look I expected you to pick truth and lie. And I was able to read a lot from that game - -”

"Right, so that’s why you asked me and Luke questions on both of your turns? He was the only one that got anything out of them while you were on your fucking power trip. We were way better off without you– so congratulations, you’re a useless piece of shit,“ he almost catches the cracks that shimmer over A’s face before her expression twists into something ugly.

"Look Backup, I don’t know how a fucking dumb game got you so upset, but I didn’t see you doing shit either,” she stops in front of their room, eyes bright, glancing back to Lawliet to defend her. He does no such thing, to B’s immense satisfaction, “I’m going to go for a walk. I’ll come back whenever you’ve started talking sense.”

B exhales, the taste of Maria’s cigarette still lingering on his lips. When they flick the light on in their room, he turns to Lawliet, looking more at his shoes than anything else, “Don’t ask me to fucking apologize to her.” 

* * *

 

“Why would I ask you to apologize?” L shrugs his hoodie off and hangs it over the back of a chair. “She was being a little obnoxious.”

 _A lot_ obnoxious, actually, but L feels that he understands what motivates A’s behavior better than B does. He’d met her when she was still Anna Frasier, an abandoned kid in a children’s group home in Detroit. After L solved her father’s cold case, A tried to prove her worth by bringing him another – the murder of a ballet dancer that they’d ended up solving together. He’d invited her to Wammy’s after that, probably making her feel chosen and special. And then she’d arrived in Winchester only to discover that L already had chosen someone before her, and that someone was B.

And like it or not, L knows he’ll always choose B first. _A knows it, too._

L unzips his hooded sweatshirt and fishes his pager out of his back pocket. Still nothing. He sets it on the edge of the night stand, making sure the volume is turned as high as possible, then flips the television on for good measure.

“How was the kiss with Maria?” L asks, doing his best to concentrate on the channels he’s flipping through, but aware that he’s probably gripping the remote harder than necessary.

B sits on the end of the bed and unties his shoes, tossing them into the corner unceremoniously.  “She tasted like cigarettes, I guess. It’s not like we were putting any effort into it.” The angles of his shoulders stiffen, as if he’s going to say more, but nothing follows except a long silence, punctuated by the occasional shoot-out or screeching tires on the telly.

“I don’t know if I’d want my first kiss to be with someone who tasted like cigarettes,” L says distantly. He doesn’t know for a fact that Maria was B’s first kiss, but any other possibility seem unlikely.

B looks over his shoulder, a guarded question in his eyes.

“Yeah, I lied during my ‘Truth.’” L smiles and glances away, feeling unexpectedly shy. “Seems like it stumped A, though.”

* * *

 

“Yeah, I guess it did,” B’s shoulders relax, but his head starts to buzz with a distinct sense of vertigo. _Lawliet hasn’t kissed anyone yet._

 _Does he want me to kiss him?_ The hunger flames across B’s fingertips, his whole body suddenly warm. Lawliet stops flicking at the sight of a familiar lush - lipped beauty, giving a sultry eye to the camera.

“We’ve seen this, haven’t we?” Lawliet’s voice is casual as he props himself up on the pillows.

“The Spy Who Loved Me,” B shuffles back, trying to keep his heart from pounding out of his chest.

“That’s right,” Lawliet nibbles at his finger calmly, while Bond requests Anya ‘get out of those wet things’. B twitches a little, remembering his own boldness earlier. The very different way Lawliet’s eyes had glittered, lips around his finger then. Lawliet seems unconcerned with the scene unfolding, but the choice can’t be a coincidence, can it?

_Just do something, right?_

B takes a deep breath, then rolls on to his shoulder, stopping a scant few inches from Lawliet’s lips. _Just. Kiss him already._

* * *

 

L’s attention is only barely on the film, the rest of his thoughts flitting from A’s insecurity, to the identity of Dread Savant, to his stolen computer. When something dark looms into his peripheral vision, he doesn’t bother to assess what it is – there isn’t enough time. Instinct has him jerking backwards, halfway to tumbling off the mattress.

“God, sorry!” he blurts out as soon as he finds his balance, the non-lizard part of his brain realizing that it’s just B, shifting closer on the bed. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah, sorry.” B mumbles and scoots away a little, knotting his fists together in his lap. The air seems to turn a little chillier even as Bond and Anya are on screen rolling around on white sheets, locked in a passionate kiss.

 _Oh, did he just try to…_ L winces as the question washes over him. They _were_ just talking about kisses a bit ago. _But I didn’t think he would try that_ now _, not when A could waltz back at any moment._ L draws his knees closer to his chest and feels the atmosphere practically throb with discomfort. _Relax or he’ll be able to tell that you figured it out, and things will only get worse._

He’s never been more relieved in his life when his pager goes off, beeping loudly from the nightstand.

“Got it!” He lunges as if he’s answering an emergency phone call, immediately jotting down the number into his case notes. He pulls the hotel phone over to the desk and gives B a weak smile, cradling the receiver against his shoulder. “London number. It’s got to be about the laptop.”

The voice that answers is male, distinctly weary-sounding. “Are you the one who lost a laptop?”

“That’s right.” L coils the phone cord between his fingers, tugging the curls out of it.

“Yeah, alright. This is kind of embarrassing, but I think I may have accidentally bought it. There was an advert on Skyline earlier today, and I jumped on it. They even delivered it to my flat.”

L immediately doubts the explanation, but feigns understanding. “Well I did say that I’d provide the reward, no questions asked. But I don’t suppose you took note of who delivered the laptop to you?”

“Just some kid. Seventeen, maybe? Brown hair. Wasn’t wearing his Con badge.”

L closes his eyes briefly. That could describe half the seventeen year old males at DEFF Con. “That’s very helpful, thanks,” he says anyway.

“Doesn’t seem right to take the reward” The man pauses significantly. “But I just spent six thousand pounds on a stolen laptop, so…”

The man, ‘Kenneth,’ claims to be a local who isn’t staying at the hotel for the convention, so they make arrangements to meet for an exchange the next day, at a cafe right across from the hotel. L will have to ask Wammy for ten thousand pounds in cash, then. Not an easy task, but certainly not impossible – especially since L plans to get the entire amount back.

“The thief already sold the laptop to someone?” B asks as soon as L hangs up.

“That’s the story I was just told, though I think that was actually the thief who just called, or possibly someone working for them.” He explains the rest of the plan in detail, and while he isn’t glad that his laptop was stolen, he _is_ glad for the timely distraction.

* * *

B focuses on the setup with the thief (or associate) to distract himself from the ugly churning of confusion in his stomach. _What the hell did he want?_ B is sure and not at all sure he misinterpreted Lawliet, but doesn’t want talking about it to make things any worse either.

“I feel like they’re gonna be too good for us to catch in person– or get anything that sticks on them,” B forces himself to direct the question at Lawliet’s face, though his mind is _demanding_ an explanation.

Lawliet nods emphatically, “We’ll need to stay in London, I feel. Possibly for at least a week. Marylebone should suffice. I’ll let Wammy know.”

Lawliet seems a little eager to head for the other room, which really tells B all he needs to know. _Look, the fact is that you fucked up again, and scared him off. Way to go._ As much as A was trying to fuck with them, B is sure now, it might not have been totally unreasonable advice to keep his distance.

B jumps a little when the door opens and A strides in, her gaze sharp and her hair flyaway, “I’ve got a lead on who our thief might be, if we can all talk.”

“Yes, we can talk. You said you gathered information at the party, let’s hear it,” Lawliet sizes her up, jamming his hands in his pockets.

“Have you considered that Maria might be the thief?” A already holds out a hand to B’s protest, “Look, I know it sounds stupid outright. But in her room– no luggage, personal items. Not even a tube of lipstick in the bathroom, and she definitely wears it. I just saw her taking leave from the pub a moment before, and she was unusually jumpy about being followed. At the very least the licence number of her bike should give us something.”

Lawliet exchanges a glance with both of them, “It seems plausible. What do you think, B?”

“She’s a little off of the profile for a geek, when I think of it,” B nods seriously, realizing that yeah, A might have something here, “And friends in high places, given the number of Lulz people at that party. That we know of. She must have scoped us as worth stealing from early on.”

“That fits. I noticed her disinterest in the con itself while we were playing earlier– and no doubt when she got the laptop away from me. Nice work, A,” Lawliet chews the edge of his finger (B doesn’t even try not to stare at this point), and A, for her part, doesn’t look too self-satisfied, “If we’re right, we’ve seen firsthand how skilled she is. But I think I have an idea that may help. For now, I’ve got to go make arrangements with Wammy for the trade. Back in a moment.”

The look Lawliet flashes B can only be interpreted as a mix of apologetic and ‘ _don’t make things worse’. Well, I won’t if she won’t_. A seems _slightly_ chastened, or at least she doesn’t meet B’s eyes when she steps over to the bathroom to wash the makeup off her face.

 _God, I’d give anything to be alone right now_.

“Right, so are we over this?” she finger-combs her hair, settling onto the bed without looking at B. He sits heavily on the corner of the bed. _It’s not like hitting her is going to change or solve anything. And we’ve got the case. Just focus on that._

“Yeah, we’re done,” he says without looking at her. The image of Lawliet flinching away keeps replaying in his mind. B grits his teeth and tries to focus on A, who is taking off her stockings in a businesslike manner. Neither of them are the apologizing type, at least not to each other.

“Kisses, though. Are you two fucking yet?” she asks the wall across from B. _Fucking hell._

“Look, Adder. We can be over it if you never fucking ask me about him again. Just don’t go there. It’s none of your damn business.”

“You know what, Backup? That’s just fine by me.”

 


	5. May 16-21, 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We've been waiting to write this scene that ends this chapter for SO LONG. Hope you enjoy! ;)

**May 16 1993**

“So how are we meant to spot this ‘Kenneth,’ anyway?” B gazes out the window of the hotel lobby, squinting at the cafe across the street.

“He’ll be the one carrying a laptop, I guess.” L feels nervy, scraped a little too raw. It could be the roll of two-hundred £50 notes in his backpack, a sum Wammy fetched from the Marylebone flat this morning, or it could be that L didn’t sleep well at all. He stayed up well past the time A and B fell asleep on the doubled-up beds, scouring the reams of forum-postings for all of Dread Savant’s activities. All that had got him was a reasonable estimate on Savant’s age (based on a few posts regarding homework) and a crick in his neck, since he eventually fell asleep in the hotel room’s desk chair.

“We could also look for the name ‘Kenneth,’ but I’ll be surprised if that’s not an alias.” He and B are back to normal conversation, for the time being. It’s easier when there’s case details to focus on.

B nods at L’s words, his brow furrowed with seriousness. A, seated on an armchair nearby, yawns throatily, showing the backs of her white teeth. “I feel nerded out,” she remarks. “I never want to watch _Star Wars_ or play a video game for the rest of my life.”

“That can probably be arranged,” L says dryly, checking his watch again. Just over ten minutes til noon.

“If it isn’t the motley trio of cousins.” Maria’s constant stream of tobacco smoke announces her presence before the words do. She smiles brightly at them, eyeing both their luggage and Wammy’s quiet presence in the chair opposite A’s. “Looks like you’re all about to hit the road.”

Dressed in form-fitting jeans and a black canvas jacket, and without either Liam or Stevie at her side, Maria looks less like a Con nerd than ever – especially with the way her gaze slides over Wammy, taking in the sharp creases of his Italian suit, the Rolex watch at his wrist. That must have been what she zeroed in on the first time she’d seen them all, back when they entered the hotel two days ago.

“We’re not going far.” L nods in Wammy’s direction. “Uncle’s family has had a flat in the West End forever. Top of the old Marylebone building.” He smiles at her, doing his best to look shy, a little uncertain. “Maybe we can all get together again some time, with Stevie and Liam, too.”

Maria seems genuinely pleased at the idea – perhaps because ‘Luke’ has just inadvertently given her the address of the Rolex she’s been sizing up: a 1942 Chronograph that Wammy inherited from his father, currently valued at over a million pounds.

“Aww, yeah, that’d be brilliant,” she chirps. “Well then, hugs all around?” She squeezes each of them on the shoulders, issuing both goodbyes and promises to keep in touch. “Until next time!” She waves and heads back into the crowd of people loitering near the hotel’s restaurant.

“She might try to watch the exchange from a distance,” L says as soon as she’s out of ear-shot. “A, be careful she doesn’t catch you at your position.”

The plan is for B and L to exchange the money for the laptop together, mostly so B can get a good look at ‘Kenneth’’s real name. Meanwhile, A will be staked out at the bookshop next door, pretending to browse, and prepared to tail Kenneth if the opportunity presents itself. Wammy will be in the car, observing everything through the tinted windows.

At last, L’s watch shows three minutes to noon. “Alright then. Let’s get going.”

* * *

 

At the drop point, which is a surprisingly cute cafe, Lawliet sips a generously-sugared coffee across the table from B, neither of them making much conversation. _Looks like a fucking date, doesn't it?_

Discomfort and regret crawl across B’s skin. _Look if only you hadn’t been such a goddamn idiot about it…_ but never mind that. Lawliet seems happy to put whatever was going on behind them today.

B should be too.

“You sleep okay? That chair…didn’t look that comfortable.”

Lawliet rolls his neck back and forth, the exhaustion on the edge of his voice, “I’ll manage.”

“That’s what coffee is for, right?” B catches the shadows under L’s eyes, and has a sudden, almost painful desire to wrap his arms around Lawliet’s shoulders, maybe tuck him in to bed. It’s gone as soon as their eyes meet, the intensity of Lawliet’s gaze shocking over his skin. _Right just. Put it behind you. All of it._

At the very least, someone is heading towards them with a deliberate sense of purpose. _Little too deliberate, for someone who hasn’t met us._

The guy is younger than B expects, probably early twenties. _Though he dresses like he’s a Dad. Is that on purpose?_ If it’s a disguise it’s rather a shitty one. When B gets closer he reads his name off as Joseph Anderson.

 _Could this be the ‘Joey’ that Maria is always on about?_ B leans into Lawliet’s ear and whispers the name to him just before ‘Joey’ reaches their table.

* * *

 

 _Joey?_ L sizes the man up from behind the shield of his coffee mug, noting the bland smile and equally bland jacket that the man’s wearing; a whole outfit of beige and brown colours. Even L, who knows nothing about fashion, would know to avoid that.  

“Hullo. Is one of you Luke?” The man asks, inclining his head. There’s a small black duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

L sets his mug down with a light _clunk_. “That’s me. You must be Kenneth?”

‘Kenneth’ nods and takes a seat, placing the duffel next to his feet. “Sorry about this situation.” His brow furrows as he looks L over, giving L time to notice the faint marks on his ear lobes – pierced ears, then. “You sounded older on the phone – your parents don’t mind that you’re offering such a generous reward?”

 _That’s a rather bold and personal question._ But ‘Luke’ is posh and sheltered, no wits about him at all, so L rolls his eyes and lets out a little laugh. “They know nothing about it, would probably kill me if they knew I lost my computer so soon after getting it. My Uncle spoils me rotten, though – the reward was his idea, actually.”

“Ah, lucky you.” The man nods pleasantly enough, but L thinks he detects a flicker of disdain in his eyes.

“Anyway.” L opens his backpack and lifts out the money, tightly wrapped in a small paper sack. “Here it is. Should all be there, but you can count it if you want.”

‘Kenneth’ (or Joey) peeks into the paper bag. “No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” He uses his foot to slide the duffel over to L. “Didn’t even get a chance to try out your machine, actually, but hey –” he smiles brightly and tucks the money into his jacket “–now I can buy a new one!”

L stirs another sugar cube into his cooling coffee, unzipping the duffel just long enough to confirm that his laptop is inside. “Lucky you.”

The man doesn’t seem to realize that his own words are being quoted at him, apologizing a second time before bidding them goodbye, a new spring in his step as he heads for the door.

“So that’s Joey, is it?” L remarks once the man is out of sight. “Do you think he’s really Maria’s boyfriend?”

* * *

 

“Maybe.” B frowns doubtfully. “Seems more likely that he’s working for her, probably for situations just like this one.”

“Yeah. Even a top notch thief can always use a lookout.”

A gusts in through the cafe doors, panting just slightly as she comes to collapse at their table. “I tailed him around the block. He got on a motorbike but I didn’t catch the plate this time. I saw Wammy take off in the car, though. Hopefully he’ll be able to follow him to a residence or something.”

That hope is dashed when Wammy walks in less than ten minutes later, shaking rain off his overcoat. “Well, that was a short-lived chase.”

L crunches further into his seat. “Did you lose him?”

“No. He parked at another hotel and convention center not far from here. It seemed unwise to follow him inside.”

“Hmm.” L drains down the rest of his coffee. “Perhaps both he and Maria regularly work conventions like DEFF Con. I’ll have to make a few calls about it when we return to Marylebone.”

“Well, then,” Wammy smiles and tips his hat. “The car is ready whenever you are.”

* * *

 

[ ](http://68.media.tumblr.com/fa9d2d35c195fbeef53b03c884c64916/tumblr_oj9lzefJ571vxcoefo1_1280.jpg)

_Skyline BBS, May 16 1993 [do not edit or repost]_

* * *

 

_Skyline BBS, May 18 1993 [do not edit or repost]_

* * *

 

**May 19 1993**

Marylebone proves to be its own flavor of torture for B. His mind vibrates wildly from calm chats over the BBS to catching every microscopic detail of the fabric of Lawliet’s shirt over his bones, the curve of his smile at the array of screens. They both keep a respectable distance. It’s a new and gutting pain and pleasure all at once.

 _Come off it. You always knew you were wanting something you couldn’t have._ Still. It hurts to have been close. _Hurts to be sure._

Touching himself seems out of the question – _that’s not gonna help me move on from this shit._ But the spacious penthouse seems far too small, and there’s no way to avoid Lawliet. _Or that I royally fucked up everything there. At least we’re still friends._

 _And thank god I have my own room._ B very quickly volunteered to sleep on the pull-out in the study, which had the dual effect of preventing Lawliet from staying up at all hours trawling the BBS chats, comparing notes on the numerous thefts reported at conventions surrounding London.

_Wish I could forget that way._

Not that all of them weren’t up quite late, sharing jellybeans and watching B throw down small talk. Zaphod preferred to talk to Quarter Queen at around 11pm, but B well knew to play it safe and shy. _Especially after what Stevie said about Dread Savant._

_Besides, we’re still waiting to see if we can nab a different kind of thief while we’re at it._

B spins around in the desk chair, focusing in on the whir and hum of the dial-up booting to distract himself from Lawliet walking in. Lawliet pulls up a seat rather close to him, the scent of his wet hair causing B’s gut to clench. He tries to speak through the rust in his voice, “We’ll be online in a sec.”

* * *

 

The last few days have been a revelation for L, and he didn’t even need the help of that _Playboy_ magazine Barrett gave him for his birthday.  

Showers and baths are the best times for his self-exploration – the only times, really, since he can lock himself in and hide behind the sound of running water. He understands, now, why B ran all the way to the woods just for a wank. It’s _amazing,_ better than L could have imagined, even if he can’t stop from having vivid and X-rated thoughts of B during the whole process. Vivid and X-rated thoughts of B seem to be essential, in fact.

But now B seems distant and distracted around him, and has been ever since the odd moment during that James Bond movie. L is fraught with questions that he doesn’t dare ask: _Does he think I was rejecting him? Did kissing Maria make him realize he prefers girls? Are we even best friends anymore?_

Even now, when they sit down at the computer to do casework together (like they have a hundred times before), B draws away just slightly, and L supposes he does the same. He wishes he knew what to do, but for now he’s stumped – making his way through the dark and hoping that at any moment he’ll be engulfed with the light of an idea.

“Well it didn’t take long for Paul to start flirting, anyway,” L observes mildly. Zaphod and Quarter Queen have hit it off, with QQ playing the dewy-eyed naif with a witty streak. The online chats are usually a group effort, with B manning the keyboard while L and A sit just behind him and offer suggestions.

“If you can call that flirting.” A comes into the study with a mug of tea and a tube of chocolate hobnobs, as if she’s going to settle in for a good movie. “He’s so wimpy and delicate about it. Quarter Queen is going to have grey hairs by the time he asks for her bra size, eh? He ought to get on with it. Biscuit?” She pulls a chair next to L and extends the tube of hobnobs. L takes one, but B shakes his head, tapping the computer mouse impatiently.

“Perhaps Queen will have to make the first move,” L says through a shower of crumbs.

* * *

 

_Skyline BBS, May 19 1993 [do not edit or repost]_

B nods, distracted by the sweet scent of Lawliet’s wet hair mixed with shampoo. _No, don’t think about him into the shower. That’s the last thing I need right now._

It’s just as well, since Zaphod just joined QQ’s channel, with a question. _Make the first move, huh?_ Without looking at Lawliet, he types a response that he’s more or less certain will get Paul’s attention.

_‘LOL sorry AFK. I was in the shower.’_

The three of them wait a moment (a long moment, in which B is sure Paul is shitting his pants with excitement) before a predictably stilted and coy response flickers on screen.

“Tch. Got him,” B leans back in his chair, cracks his knuckles, and can’t help indulging in a grin at Lawliet’s sharp eyes (though his eyes linger too long at the shadows of Lawliet’s wiry neck).

“Reel him in, Backup, he’s practically begging for details,” A giggles nastily, taking a dainty nibble of the cookie.

“Gonna need to be careful about this, ‘cause Brianne is supposed to be shy. Maybe she’s got a wild side,” B bites his knuckles before tapping out a reply.

_‘Maybe I’m less of a lady some of the time’_

_‘With the right guy’_

_‘U wanna know what I’m wearing?’_

_‘Or what Im not wearing ;-)’_

* * *

 

L watches the white text appear at the bottom of the black screen. “Hmm. Maybe wait on the question about what you’re wearing and see how he responds to the other, first? Wouldn’t want to move too fast.”

B’s fingers hover over the keyboard incisively, to which A lets out a snort and leans over far enough to smash the ‘enter’ button, sending the whole block of text at once. “He’s a teenaged boy. There’s no such thing as moving too fast.”

L catches B in a brief sidelong glance, his lips pressing together just before his gaze bounces away.

_‘Oh wow, really? Sure. Tell me what ur not wearing ;-)’_

“Panties,” L says abruptly. “Or a bra.” He nibbles on half a biscuit, remembering how vivid A’s red lace bra looked against B’s skin. _Did he like wearing it, I wonder?_

B types the text out slowly but without protest, hitting ‘enter’ without A’s help this time.

_‘No bra or panties. Just a towel.’_

_‘Wow. U sure you want me to know that ur almost naked? I could get ideas U know. :-*’_

“Oh god, I hate those kissy-faces he sends.” A groans through a mouthful of biscuit. “What a creep.”

L barely pays attention, focused instead on the words on the screen, on B’s fingers tapping against the keyboard.

“I don’t mind. I’d like to see you naked too, if you’d let me,” L dictates steadily, even as his pulse starts to fill up his throat. “I’ve never seen one up close before.”

A rolls over the side of her chair and against him, almost choking with laughter. “ _‘I’ve never seen one up close before!’_ Oh god, that’s good. Hilarious.”

B types the words and sends them, seeming to hold his breath all the while, the back of his neck visibly pinker even in the dim light of the study.

_‘Well, I’d definitely show U mine. U don’t even have to ask.’_

L leans forward, hooking his elbows on the end of the desk and trying not to pay too much attention to the heat gathering in his lower abdomen – it has nothing to do with Paul, anyway. It’s about B hearing the sound of L’s voice.

“How hard do you get? Do you touch yourself a lot and think of me?“

* * *

 

B’s brain whites out at the purr of Lawliet’s graveled voice, nerves lit up like fireworks as he manages to send the response. Seeing the words appear on screen plays them on loop in his head, matching them with Lawliet’s hungry stare from a few days ago.

Lawliet’s breath is imperceptibly louder, insidious even at this distance from B’s ear. He doesn’t dare turn around, not sure if he wants to swallow Lawliet whole or grab his shoulders and shake him, demanding to know what this means.

The screen blips with Zaphod’s reply.

_‘god all the time’_

_‘touching it right now’_

_‘is that too much? srry.’_

B’s mind suddenly flickers with a film reel of Lawliet, on the riverbank, Lawliet on his bed—eyes blown black and beckoning for his touch. He shifts in his skinny jeans suddenly increasingly grateful for the cover of the desk. _This is too much, Christ. She’s right there. How the fuck is she not gonna notice?_

Not that I want it to stop either. He gathers his mind and muscles enough to tap out a reply, praying that A doesn’t notice the slight shake in his fingertips.

_‘no it’s good’_

_‘I think about U all the time too’_

_‘like I cant stop thinking about U’_

_‘glad Im not wearing anything :-*’_

“Ooh, kissy face, bet he just loves that. God, I bet he’ll come in seconds just from that. So fucking desperate,” A has lit a cigarette, and it says something about how distracted Lawliet is that he doesn’t tell her to knock it off in front of the computer.

 _Don’t look at him don’t look don’t look._ B is nearly desperate to touch himself, barely aware of anything in the room other than Lawliet’s pale skin in his peripheral vision. _Fuck this is such a bad idea fuck_. But the fear of being seen, getting caught only sends a wave of pleasure further down to his groin.

_‘Ur too good to me princess’_

_‘Ur bad girl ;-)’_

There’s only one good response that Zaphod will be happy with, B is sure.

_‘only 4 U’_

There is a distinct pause in the conversation, in which A shimmies in and puts a hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch away. “Come on we’ve definitely got him. I bet he’ll tell us anything we ask after this—he’s completely fucked. Oh, what did I tell you?”

_‘k I think I might need to go shower :-*’_

_‘can we meet up?’_

* * *

 

L’s attention zooms away from B and back to the case as soon as Paul asks about meeting up. At this point, he’s been disinclined to talk about the Lulz in too much detail, at least not on a BBS, but he might open up more in person. But can B really pull off playing a girl in a one-on-one setting? The whole idea makes L distinctly uncomfortable.

“Stall. Tell him your parents are strict – that’s why you keep such a low profile. They wouldn’t approve of you being involved in this computer stuff.”

B types out a reply that more or less says just that, and L leans forward to wait for Paul’s response, the heated double-meaning of his previous dictations drifting to the back of his mind, but not quite leaving. Not with B still sitting inches away.

_‘I understand. Wish u could get away though.’_

_‘I’ll be looking for an opportunity, promise. :-*’_

_‘Kewl. Goodnight bad girl. ;-)’_

With that, B logs off Skyline and exits the terminal program, letting out a long, slow breath that doesn’t escape L’s notice.

“Why are we stalling?” A gives L a slight nudge with her elbow. “B’s up to the challenge of meeting up with Paul, I bet.” A smug little smile lights up her eyes. “And if he’s not, I can just wear that Zelda costume and fool him. It’s not like he really saw ‘Brianne’ up close.”

B shoots her a bit of a dirty look. “He’s horny, not blind and stupid, A. Besides, if I go in disguise it’s gonna take a little more than stuffing your bras to make it believable. At least I need some time to figure that out.”

L calmly dusts hobnob crumbs into his hand and sprinkles them into the rubbish bin under the desk. “I agree. And I’m disinclined to arrange for a meeting when we don’t know for sure if Paul knows Dread Savant’s real identity. Stevie didn’t, after all.”

“Stevie’s just a wannabe cyberpunk. If anyone knows Dread Savant, it’s Paul. He’s obviously high up in the Lulz.” A’s right about this much, at least. Paul leaves his chats with Quarter Queen abruptly, on occasion, called away but what L guesses are his phreaking duties.

A quiet knock on the study door ends the debate prematurely, Wammy poking his head in and bringing the smell of cigars with him. “Pardon the interruption, L. I thought you might want to know that I saw a familiar motorbike parked not far from here when I was on my way back from Boodle’s.”

“Maria must be casing out the building.” L nods, satisfied with this news. Once she’s hashed out a few B&E scenarios, she’ll probably wait for them to all go out on the weekend – to the theater, perhaps, or some other posh thing – then make her move.

They chat a bit about how to best lure her in, but before long A is yawning against the back of her hand. “I’m knackered. Bed for me, I think.”

“Same,” L says, quickly springing out of his chair now that standing up won’t betray him. Being left alone in the study with B….well, it’s a little bit tempting, but what would he _do_ , exactly?

He’s a little afraid of what he might do, to be honest.

“‘Night,” he says as he heads out the door, flashing B a small smile.

Back in his own room, he tries to look over case notes to no avail. Worry knots at his belly even as he attempts to dampen it down with large quantities of chocolate. He feels like he should have done something more. Not directly, maybe – but some kind of hint. Just in case B still thinks that L rejected him back in their hotel room at DEFF Con.

And then he spots a pad of post-it notes on his desk and smiles, the perfect _something_ taking full shape in his head.

_Kissy Notes [do not edit or repost]_

* * *

**May 21 1993**

B is pretty sure no case is ever going to make him feel this on edge for this many days straight. Which is saying something, considering they’ve barely gone outside Marylebone, and yeah, B imagines his future part in cases isn’t going to be sitting behind a computer screen.

Ever since a yellow sticky note with a kiss sketched on it was slipped under his door, his confused panic has settled to a frenetic excitement itching at the edges of his senses. Outwardly, he and Lawliet play the part of friends and partners, nothing more.

_But there’s more to that game._

Like sneaking bites of Lawliet’s food off his plate, licking his fingertips the way Lawliet often does just to see the way his eyes widen. _Yeah, you didn’t realize what you were doing with that did you?_

Like the way Lawliet’s bare toes brush his under the table, then indecently crawl up his ankle while they eat dinner. _God, trying to keep a straight face through that was torture_. Today, B has his own form of revenge planned before they head out to ‘catch a movie’ (and see if they can nab Maria in the act).

He double checks that A is in the bath before heading back into the study, where Lawliet is poring over the latest set of phreaking incidents. They haven’t gotten to be alone except for small snatches—and closing the door now would be too suspicious.   _Ace can already tell something is up._

“Made a drawing,” He slips his sketchbook out from under the mattress, heart beating very fast, “Wanna see it?”

_Eyes and Hands [do not edit or repost]_

* * *

 

L looks up from his desk chair and recognizes the book in B’s hand; it’s the current one he’s using for sketching, though L hasn’t seen him with it in awhile – not since he drew the anatomical sketch back at the DEFF con hotel. From the way that B is poised by the sofa bed, a mixture of daring and apprehension tight across his face, L can tell that he’s going to have to be the one to cross the room. He glaces at the open door, then quickly pads over to B’s side, scooting close so that they’re standing shoulder to shoulder with their backs to the door.

It’s more anatomy – in a manner of speaking, anyway. The charcoal sketches are of eyes, a hand, a throat and the beginnings of a jawline, all of them becoming more familiar the longer L studies them. The piece suggests a keen and sharp sense of interest, a type of _watchfulness_ , both from the artist and from his subject. L is barely touching the paper, but his face feels warm just the same. _Is this really how I look to him?_

L doesn’t think of himself as particularly arresting, but the person in the drawings seems like they would be.

“Are those really all my eyes?” He can’t stop the question from coming out, even though he knows the answer, sure enough as he knows that he and B aren’t standing this close because there’s a draft in the room. Pointing to one of sketched eyes, he lays his wrist across B’s.

“Yeah, uh. When you look, I look back.” It’s not much more than a whisper, ending with a note that seems half-laugh, half-gasp.

“Um.” L fights back the urge to laugh. Nothing’s funny, not at all – just the opposite, in fact. There’s a prickle in his scalp that’s journeying straight down to his stomach, the same sensation that comes from reaching the top of the first hill on a roller coaster. Like something big is going to happen, the earth dipping right out from under him. “I guess I won’t stop, then.”

B tenses beside him, holding his breath, maybe. Just before the plunge.

Neither of them does anything, though, except that L’s fingers have crept across the top of B’s hand without him realizing it, as if he’s helping prop up the sketch book for him.

“L! Can you bring me my notebook while I’m finishing up in here? I want to write something down before I forget it.” A’s voice is muffled from the other room, but not so muffled that L can claim not to have heard it.

B lets out an unhappy hiss and instinctively pulls away, jamming the sketchbook back under the mattress.

“Lars! Pretty please?”

Unable to even look B in the eye, L marches into A’s bedroom and past the open bathroom door, finding her familiar powder-blue notebook on top a pile of laundry.

“Here. I suppose you need a pen, too?” He walks through the open bathroom door and draws up short. He expected to find A wrapped up in a robe and gazing at herself in the mirror, but instead she’s still in the tub, her hair piled on the top of her head and a cigarette perched between her fingers. The water has a layer of suds, but really not enough to hide everything, and while L’s seen her in the bathtub before, that was over a year ago, back before he thought anything of it. He’s not particularly interested in seeing her naked, but can’t help but be curious as to why she’d be so unconcerned about it. Perhaps she’s taken up nudism on a whim, just as she seemed to do with smoking cigarettes.

“Nah,” she says, as casual as if the were both chatting on the living room sofa. “I just wanted to have the notebook in sight so that I don’t forget when I get out.”

L straightens up from his slouch against the door frame. “Okay, well. I’ll let you finish up, then.” He’s in no small hurry to return to the study, where B is.

“You can stay.” She says it a little too fast, then tries to cover it with a shrug and a smile. “I mean, it’s not a big deal, is it?”

Before L can answer, he hears the floorboards creak behind him.

* * *

 B catches the tail end of ‘ _it’s not a big deal’_ just before he barges into the bathroom, glaring at A for her _fucking timing_ . Not that he isn’t slightly terrified, his mind reeling with what _we could have done_ . But there’s _no way in hell I’m leaving him alone with her_.

“Oh hi, Backup,” she waves her cigarette, the smell of nicotine blending with the overly sweet vanilla of the bath salts. Her nipples are almost poking at the surface of the foam.

“Hi,” he states coldly, folding himself next to Lawliet on the counter.

 _I see exactly what you’re fucking doing, Adder. And it’s not going to work._ B is pretty sure, anyways. Lawliet doesn’t exactly look thrilled by the situation, though he’s got that bland mask back on, smiling at B like he wasn’t just dragging his fingertips along the back of B’s wrist.

“So. What do you think of your new tits, now that we’ve dragged them up?” she swirls the foam, altogether unconcerned with the situation, “Up for passing?”

“They’re fine,” she’s acting like they never stopped doing these chats by the bathtub over cases, which were common a year ago back at Wammy’s. _We’re not kids anymore, Adder. Stop playing around._

“So you think you’re ready to get something out of Paul?” the closest they had gotten to progress was when A took the keyboard for a while and managed to get some incriminating information about the hardware used for phreaking. The evidence was circumstantial at best thought, and they were still no closer to revealing the identity of Dread Savant.

_Which yeah, Lawliet is getting impatient about that._

“Yeah, I’ll go soon. Tomorrow, even. We can set it up tonight,” he bares his teeth at her, and she smiles even wider, letting a gust of smoke out from her lips.

“Fine,” she stubs the cigarette out in the bathwater and reaches for the tap to turn on the shower, popping the plug and pulling herself up to full height before tugging the curtain shut, “I’ll be ready to ‘go to the movies’ in a moment.”

“Um. Yeah, I’m going to go,” he blinks to erase the image of her ass imprinted on his eyes. He glances at Lawliet, reassured by the confusion in his eyes as they both get out of there,  “So uh. The hell is with her?”

* * *

 L shakes his head vaguely, though he knows that A’s antics have the same motivation as they always do: ambition paired with insecurity, mixed with a little boredom.

“Jealousy,” he says simply, and B’s face reddens slightly at the suggestion that there’s something to be jealous _of. Which – yeah, there is._ L suspects, though, that even if A were his number one, her jealous insecurities would remain, perhaps even intensify. They’re just a sad part of her history and makeup that L can see all too clearly, even if he might be blind to his own.

“L. Beyond.” Wammy exits his bedroom and finds them in flat’s sitting room a moment later, putting on their socks and shoes. “Shall we prepare for our ‘outing’?” During his morning constitutional, Wammy confirmed that Maria’s motorbike was parked in the area again. Even if she doesn’t take the bait this time, L considers it a good opportunity for a test run of their plan.

L nods, lacing up his sneakers and slipping on the glasses he wore as ‘Luke.’ B has Brian’s leather jacket on, though L has already come to regard it as being unique to B and B alone. A is last to be ready, wearing her platform Mary Jane shoes and a short dress of crushed green velvet. It’s all just window dressing, though. They leave the building via the front entrance, giving little more than a slight nod to the too-young door man. If he gives Maria a second glance, it will likely be to check out her bum as she saunters over to the lift. L knows that the best thieves never sneak in if they can help it, but come in during daylight hours, behaving as if they own the place.

The nearest cinema is a short walk, and they spend it chatting about their predictions for the film’s plot. Given that they’re pretending to see _Super Mario Brothers_ , ‘Luke’ doesn’t expect much, though ‘Alex’ insists that it should at least be entertaining in a goofy way. When they’re out of the Marylebone building’s sight, though, all three of them make a sharp detour through the alley, leaving Wammy to turn back as lookout. They backtrack through the underground parking garage and take the service lift all the way up to the penthouse, dismantling the alarm system before they all pile back inside into the cool air that still smells of A’s vanilla bath salts.

“Alright,” L says in a whisper, resetting the locks and alarm. “Let’s keep all the lights off and gather in the study. If she decides to break in, I want her to make it all the way into the flat before she realizes she’s been lured into a trap.”

* * *

 

The three of them keep quiet vigil on B’s bed, just out of sight of the daylight peeking through the heavy curtains. B glances sidelong at A, who tucks her long legs back against the bed. _Jealousy, huh._

 _Well, she should be jealous,_ a nastier part of his mind whispers, eyes crawling over Lawliet. For once, A isn’t sitting between them, and there are mere inches between their hands, their bodies.

They wait.

B’s fingers itch to fidget with a deck of cards, a pencil, anything really. The half-light makes Lawliet’s neck tendons glow, and B can see the way his bare toes scrunch up on the exposed sheets, just overtop of where the sketchbook is tucked underneath.

He’s too distant though, dark shadowed eyes laser-focused on what’s to come– the moment over charcoal and skin has long since gone up in smoke. _I want that back_. B snatches at Lawliet’s hand, thinking about A, and then is stuck for a moment when Lawliet’s arresting eyes take him in, a question in them.

“Just uh. Thought I saw something,” he folds his fingers over Lawliet’s almost guiltily, keeping his eyes downcast even though they make no monsters out of the folds in the bedsheets, “Probably just me.”

Lawliet squeezes his hand, lacing their fingers together almost softly, like they used to do so easily before. B’s heart skips two beats, his lips parting involuntarily. Lawliet’s eyes widen and he smiles a little back.

“It’s fine,” he says, softly enough for B to feel a tiny bit guilty about the lie, “M’here, we’re safe here. We just have to wait.”

“We’re here for you, B,” A’s sharp nails cover his hand too, pressing her bones a little too hard over his fingers. He fights the urge to flinch away. A has rarely offered comfort for his visions, and albeit in a harsh, clumsy way that he usually brushes off. She looks a little lost this time, as if daring him to let go.

“Thanks,” he stares off at neither of them, but swipes his finger slowly and reverently over Lawliet’s knuckle.

* * *

 It’s an inconvenient time for B’s visions to kick in, but from the way that his fingers are silkily trailing over L’s, L wonders if they’re really that bad. He decides not to give the matter much thought, too taken by the pleasantly warm tingles in his belly that surface whenever they have these covert moments of contact. They’re becoming addictive, they are – more so than the sweets he nibbles on throughout the day.

The spell is interrupted by a single beep from the alarm system that makes L nearly jump off the sofa bed. He presses his lips together and holds his breath. The flat’s security system offers decent protection, but it’s a well-known brand that a seasoned thief probably knows how to quickly short out. In any case, the alarm panel doesn’t release any further sounds, though very soft footfalls make their way to L’s ear, as does a creak from the loose floorboard by the dining room table.

“Get to the front door to block a getaway,” L whispers, rising slowly from the mattress.

They must be able to move with impressive silence, because Maria doesn’t look up when he creeps into the doorway of the dining room and A and B take their post at the flat’s entryway. The late afternoon light casts her in a bluish hue as she examines the drawer of silver cutlery in the china hutch. Dressed in a tartan skirt and matching jumper, with a newsboy cap nestled over her blond hair, she looks half Catholic schoolgirl, half Oliver Twist street waif. L takes in the tableau for a moment, then clears his throat.

“Hullo again, Maria.”

She slams the silver drawer shut and lets out an audible gasp, her elbow banging against the window pane.

“L-Luke! Hi!” A bright smile pastes over her features. “I’m glad you’re here. I dropped by to look for you, actually. I was just in the neighborhood, you see, and then I remembered you saying that your Uncle’s flat was in this building.” She flips off her hat and runs a hand through her hair, fluffing it out like a golden halo. “It’s so good to see you again!”

L cocks his head and calmly removes his fake glasses, tucking them into his back pocket. “You don’t have to do that – play innocent. You just broke into the flat and right now I’m hoping that the alarm system isn’t permanently damaged. You already owe me ten thousand pounds as it is, Merrie.”

The sound of her real name wipes the false smile right off Maria’s face, though she hides her panic well. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice is different: lower and far less cheerful. “I’ll just be going now, thanks.” With a good inch or two on L she brushes past him easily, but stops up short when she sees B and A leaning against the front door. B glowers at her while A offers a sweet little finger wave.

“Fuck,” she mutters, retrieving a pack of cigarettes from her rolled-up shirt sleeve. “If you’re going to make me wait while you call in the blues, can I at least have a smoke?”

“I suppose.” L prods her elbow, steering her into the sitting room. “But I hadn’t planned on calling the police just yet.”

Maria plops into an armchair, her expression stormy, while L takes a seat on the sofa across from her, B and A coming in to take a seat on either side of him.

“Alright Merrie, your turn.”

“My turn to what?” She squints at him through a column of smoke.

“To explain yourself, of course.” L draws his heels up to the edge of the sofa, knees pressed to his chest as he leans forward and nibbles on the end of his index finger.

* * *

 B keeps his muscles tense, eyes wary on Maria’s resigned glare, the way she tucks up her feet on the chair. It’s to her credit that her eyes flicker towards the exits only once. He can see A’s fingers trail to the handgun in her jacket should Maria try to run. _She won’t get far._

_Now, we see what she’s made of._

“You’re after the others, aren’t you?” Maria says it in a low, bitter whisper “he’s never let any of us get caught before. And I know he won’t come in after me, so fuck him.”

“Who?” Lawliet bugs out his eyes at her, his pupils catching the the light as A switches on the lamp.

“Joey. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s more like…our leader. He took me in off the streets when I was ten and still a shite pickpocket,” she lowers the cigarette, ice-blue eyes distant on the gold frames in the corner of the room.

“And you said there were others?” B finds his voice, realizing how much the story reminds him of himself. _That’s a disadvantage._

“I’m not the only one of his, there’s a whole family of us in London. Girls my age, mostly. Says they’re easier to underestimate. And for other reasons,” She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, taking a long drag of the cigarette and exhaling the smoke. B almost feels sorry for her. Almost.

“So hell, if it’s him you’re after, I’ll even help you take him out. Just. Don’t drag me or my sisters into this. We did what we had to.”

It’s a good story. _Good enough that I’d have trouble not believing it in real time. That just goes to show what this world is really like._ It’s a shame he knows well enough from Lawliet that her sob story is a bald faced lie.

* * *

 

L smiles from behind the curve of his hand. He was hoping that Maria would spin a story as good as this one. The fact that she was able to launch into it with no delay, and with very few tells, suggests that she’s a convincing liar: no hand over her mouth, no closing of the eyes. She does look away a few times, but it conveys a sense of guilt rather than dishonesty. Her willingness to throw Joey under the bus is a nice touch, and confirms L’s strong suspicion that the man is mostly expendable for her.

“Mm, well done.” L nods at her in a way that elicits a furrowed brow. “It’s always good to mix in a little truth with lies. They play better that way.”

“It’s all truth,” Maria insists, stamping her butt out into the crystal ashtray that was mostly decorative until A took up smoking. She lights another immediately.

L shakes his head slowly. “The part about you being on the streets, maybe. But you frequently ran away from your Aunt and Uncle’s house after your mother died, didn’t you? So ‘being on the streets’ was more of a choice, in that sense.” He doesn’t bother hiding his smile now. Tracking down the truth about Merrie Kenwood had been a challenge, but it’s amazing what he can accomplish with phone calls, especially when they’re all to people living in the small, depressed village of Cumnock, Scotland. All he had to do was claim to be a long-lost cousin, and in less than a day he had most of the information he needed.

“Your Aunt sounds like a religious tyrant, by the way, so I can’t really fault you for running away.” Maria’s expression has turned stony, the cigarette forgotten in her tight grip, but L presses on anyway. “Joey promised to take you to Aberdeen just before your fourteenth birthday. He’d already been in jail twice, a bad thief by most accounts, but with a young girl on his side he had a lot more success. I don’t imagine it was long before your skills surpassed his, leaving him with no choice but to work as your lookout and errand boy.” L cups his palms over his knees and leans forward slightly. “And that leaves us where we are now: you work the convention scene in the Docklands, breaking into hotel safes, and I imagine you’ve got several other routines to get the goods you need. The money matters to you, but the thrill of breaking in, of getting away unseen – that matters even more.”

Bluish smoke unfurls into the room, hanging with the silence.

“Alright. Who the fuck are you?” She crosses her legs and looks at him very hard. “You couldn’t have figured out any of that without knowing my full name, which should be impossible – same with Joey’s.”

“I’m afraid that’s a secret.” L gives B the slightest nudge with his elbow, smiling inwardly.

“Clearly not impossible after all,” A adds, haughty enough to make L frown. None of them are doing this to gloat (well not _much_ , anyway).

Maria’s eyes widen slightly, realization dawning on her. “Wait. Are you lot the ones who terrorized a pair of DARQs are DEFF Con? _You_?” She snorts, seeming unable to believe her own accusation. “You did ask a lot of questions about them, though. And you–” she lifts a cool eyebrow at A “–bragging about being tight with them. I don’t know much about Deneuve but I doubt they’re that obvious.”

* * *

 “Obvious, hmm? Which is why you fell for this, hook, line and sinker,” A flips her hair, uncowed and thoroughly enjoying Maria’s discomfort, “ Deneuve is nothing but a mercenary.”

“What does that make you, then? Thugs?” she exhales smoke in defiance, but looks more than a little nervous at the way A taps her sharp nails on the countertop.

“We do what needs doing,” B says firmly, before A can stand up and go for her fingers. They’re here to get the money back, and maybe see if Maria can be trusted. _I wanna trust her,_ B realizes. He’s not sure if his instincts are good or not, “And that might involve jail time for you, that might not. But we’ll need Luke’s money back, with interest. A bit of good faith, if you will.”

_Negotiate. You know what she wants. Freedom, just like Lawliet said._

Maria’s eyebrows shoot up a bit, and she sits a little straighter, “Are you three after the Warsaw file? Because you’re too late, I already flipped that to the highest bidder. Good price, too.”

* * *

 L shakes his head methodically. “Not the Warsaw file. We’re after a collaboration, of sorts.” Even the word ‘ _collaboration’_ seems to make Maria bristle as she closes her eyes and exhales sharply through her nose, leaving L immensely glad that he didn’t deliver the pitch as _‘I want you to come work for me.’_ “I imagine that your line of work means that you frequently end up with more than just expensive goods in your hand. Specifically, you must come upon a lot of valuable information.”

“Sure.” Her shoulders relax slightly. “But I don’t do blackmail. Too much work. Too much time spent with people.”

“You seemed comfortable spending time with Stevie and Liam. And us, even,” L points out, more curious than accusatory.

She gives him a smile that almost makes him feel young and a little foolish. _Almost._ “Because you all had something valuable that I wanted.”

“Of course.” L smiles right back. “I feel much the same way about you.”

“And what could I possibly have that you’d want?”

“A name.” L curls his toes into the sofa cushion. “I need the identity of the hacker who goes by the handle ‘Dread Savant.’”

Maria tips her head against the chair’s leather back and lets out a noise that’s half-snort, half-laugh. “And you think I know it? Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve spent the better part of the last two months trying to find out who Dread Savant is. No luck so far.”

A issues a curse under her breath, though L finds the information useful. It’s a little reassuring, too, that Maria hasn’t gotten any further than he has. “I suppose you wanted in on his bank fraud phreaking scam?” Her answering shrug is admission enough. “What about Paul Christian? Might he know who Dread Savant is?”

She pauses, tapping her cigarette against the ashtray. “Possibly. I tried to get him drunk on the first night of DEFF Con just to see if he’d spill anything interesting, but he ended up vomiting into a planter instead.”

That brings out a slight snicker from A, though L feels B shift beside him in a way that could mean anything, be it discomfort or neutrality. But Maria is a dead end on the Dread Savant front, which means they need to discuss Plan B, the sooner the better.

“Even if you don’t know who Dread Savant is, I’m sure you’ll have other information we’ll find useful, sooner or later.” L brushes off his kneecaps and comes to his feet. “Though the longer it takes for you to get the ten thousand pounds to me, the more information I’ll require for us to be even. Now, shall I show you to the door?”

Maria’s expression is vaguely confused as L leads her to the front door, making the sign behind his back for _‘wait here.’_ He walks her all the way to the lift, politely pushing the call button for her.

“It’s a shame about your Uncle.” He finally says, and even without looking at her directly, he sees Maria’s eyes widen, her front teeth biting down on her bottom lip.

“Why? What happened to him?” Her voice is dry. Suppressed emotion, or maybe just too many cigarettes.

“It’s an interesting story.” He slips a piece of paper with a scribbled number into her hand. “That’s a pager number for someone who has my pager number. Pay back the money you owe us and you’ll hear the rest of the story some day.”

He doesn’t stay long enough to see her onto the lift.

* * *

 “I think we got her hooked,” B grins at Lawliet when he returns to the room, and Lawliet smiles a little back.

“ _I_ think we should have locked her up here. I can’t _believe_ you just let her walk free like that, Lars,” A kicks out her long legs on the couch, scribbling madly in her little notebook.

“If we want her to work for us she’s gonna want a long leash, Ace.”

“That much is obvious, Backup. I don’t think we _should_ want her to work for us.”

“I remain impressed with her skills,” Lawliet hops back up between A and B, fingers accidentally brushing over B’s wrist. _Right. Accident._  “I’d give it an eighty-seven percent chance she contacts Watari in the next two days.”

A purses her lips, but seems to settle against arguing for now, “I’m glad we’ll be trusting Backup’s intel rather than hers. So we’ll take you up on setting up a ‘date’ for tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I said I’d do it, didn’t I?” B glares at A a little, even as she shrugs, “We also know his parents go out for dinner on Mondays, and he might feel better about hosting QQ then. I can poke around– any sort of pictures will be a lot of help.”

“Watch he doesn’t cop you a feel, Backup. There’s only so far those Barbie tits will take you,” A smirks, arching her back and stretching as if to emphasize her own chest. _Yeah, but I’m going and not you, A._

“You don’t need to tell me that,” B is already thinking about the pink button-up and mid length skirt A had helped him pick out a few days ago, just in case. Truth is, from the moment they started this he was pretty sure he’d have to drag Brianne out to meet Paul’s sorry ass. But the thought of going sends a jolt of anxious energy to his stomach.

 _Relax. It’s something I can do for the case, and I’m pretty sure I can do it well. Or at least Lawliet seems to think so_. He glances sidelong at Lawliet, who seems distant, finger jammed under his lip. He nudges Lawliet with his shoulder, causing a pleasant shock overtop of his skin.

 _Lawliet seems a little more distracted, though._ B frowns, a question in his eyes.

“The bottom line is that we need a name that we’re sure of,” Lawliet states, not looking too closely at him, “And we won’t be able to pursue this type of attack for too long without being discovered.”

“I got this,” B says, locking eyes with Lawliet for a beat too long, which intensifies the nervousness fluttering in his chest “Just go in, flirt a little, get the info, get out. Don’t get found out.”

_No big deal, right?_

* * *

 

They end up catching a later showing of _Super Mario Bros_ after all, though Wammy opts to stay at the flat and read, having little interest in film adaptations of Nintendo video games. It turns out to be even worse than L (who frequently enjoys silly movies) anticipates, such an obvious attempt to cash in on the game’s popularity that he finds himself squirming in his seat. At least the costumes are good. At least he has licorice ropes to nibble on. At least he and B’s fingers touch when they both reach into the sack at the same time.

During the walk that follows their dinner of curry and chips at a restaurant around the corner from the cinema, L decides that the meeting with Maria went about as well as can be expected. She didn’t leap at the opportunity to ‘collaborate,’ but then he hardly expected that. The exchange never turned hostile, though, and he’s quite sure that she left Marylebone at least a little bit intrigued. On top of everything else, he learned that the flat’s locks and security system is in need of a serious update.

He discusses that at length with Wammy when they return, eventually writing out an order for ANSI Grade 1 deadbolts, surveillance cameras, and ceiling-mounted motion detectors. By the time they’re finished, it’s well past midnight and the cracks beneath both A’s and B’s doors don’t show any light.

L says goodnight to Wammy and retreats to the kitchen, still buoyant and wide-awake from the day’s events. He finds ice cream in the freezer – vanilla, his favourite, since he considers it the perfect blank slate for the chocolate fudge sauce and strawberries nestled in the refrigerator. After fixing himself a bowl that’s large enough for three people, he sits on the edge of the counter and digs in.

* * *

 

Between sewing up the meeting with Paul and chatting about makeup options with A, it turns late before B even notices it. He’s surprisingly grateful for her company, and she seems, for the moment, eager to give him tips on how to use romance to gather intel.

He wishes he could talk to Lawliet a little, but for now Wammy seems to be taking up his time. _That’s fine. We’ll probably have time to talk tomorrow. And if all goes smoothly, we’ll be back in Winchester soon._

“Better get some sleep before tomorrow. Remember that there’s nothing you can’t get a man to believe if you can make him horny. So take every advantage you’ve got. And don’t drink anything he offers you,” she almost seems concerned, so he smiles a little back, and nods.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Never do, Backup.”

“Thanks, Ace,” he waves her off and strips into sleeping clothes, a loose-fitting tee and some boxers. Even as his head hits the pillow with a creak on the sofa bed, he realizes he’s still a little anxious for tomorrow, something unsaid hanging in the air. After a half hour of tossing and turning, he sits up and wonders if he ought to try drawing something, get his mind off things.

Underneath the door there’s still a glow that when B peeks his head out from the study he realizes it’s from the kitchen. _Looks like I’m not the only night owl tonight._ He pads towards the glow, toes cold against the polished wood. When he pushes open the kitchen door he has to fight a rush of heat to his face.

Lawliet is perched on the kitchen countertop, licking his fingertips and staring into space, a half-eaten bowl of iced cream next to him. He’s in his pajamas as well, which consist of nothing but a loose-fitting pair of flannel pants, his wiry ribcage and shoulder blades catching under the fluorescent light. He turns to B curiously. _Shit._

B leans against the door frame, heart pounding in his ribcage but smiling easily nonetheless, “Hey uh. Trouble sleeping?”

* * *

 

B’s hair is mussed from the aforementioned ‘trouble sleeping,’ and L finds it difficult to look away from a particular curl that brushes across his forehead.

“I haven’t been to bed yet.” He spoons half-melted ice cream into his mouth a little too fast, wiping a spatter of it away with the back of his head. “Don’t worry, I didn’t eat it all.” He gives a nod to the freezer.

B grabs a bowl from the cabinet and scoops some dessert for himself, grabbing what’s left of the chopped strawberries and sprinkling them on top while L stares at the curve of his spoon – the reflection that looks back at him is even more wide-eyed and spooky than usual. _Which he – for some reason – decided to draw, anyway._

“Did you and Wammy figure out a plan for the flat’s security?”

L swallows another bite of berry down. _So it’s to be small talk, then_. “Yeah. Installation will take some time, but when we’re finished it should offer a serious challenge to anyone trying to break in, even to someone with Maria’s skill.

B pushes a teakettle and dutch oven aside and hops up next to L, nothing but the bottle of chocolate sauce between them. When he tries to squeeze it over his ice cream, though, no more than a tiny, pathetic sputter comes out.

“You didn’t eat all the ice cream, but you _did_ hog all the chocolate,” B protests, his pout clearly just for show.

 _From small talk to jokes._ That’s better, at least.

“I didn’t know you’d be joining me. Consider yourself lucky you even got strawberries.” L grins and points his spoon at the bowl of fruit.

“Arsehole.” But B’s grinning too, a giddy sort of light seeming to flicker in his eyes.

 _From jokes to…_ except L has no idea what comes next.

Better, maybe, not to think about it.

“Fine, have some of mine.” He gives a mock sigh and scrapes some chocolate up from the side of his bowl, extending the spoon out to B in a sticky hand.

* * *

 

B is somewhat prepared for the offer, but it doesn’t stop it going straight to his chest, airy and pounding with excitement. Lawliet’s eyes are just as wide, blown beautiful and black as he waits for B to respond.

He puts his lips to the cool metal of the spoon carefully at first, then takes it all in one go, lips and tongue grazing the sticky edges of Lawliet’s fingertips before he can lose his nerve.

 _God, his skin even tastes sweet,_ is the only thought B manages to have as he swallows the chocolate down, trying to look nonchalant. Lawliet laughs quite differently than he usually does, an cold, airy sound, but sweet as iced cream.

B laughs a little back, smiling in spite of himself, “Thanks.”

They don’t speak for a moment, B taking a spoonful of iced cream. _Like this is normal. Like this is how we are now._

_God, maybe it could be._

He glances sidelong at Lawliet, an idea forming amidst the blood roaring in his ears, “You’ve uh. Got it all over your face, too.”

“Well, you’re the one scavenging for chocolate sauce,” Lawliet snarks, and then purses his lips, looking pointedly at the wall as if he himself isn’t sure what to do with that.

B doesn’t so much decide what to do as he just _does_ , leaning over to run his tongue over the hollow of Lawliet’s cheekbone to his messy lips. His lips are softer, thinner than B expected. Lawliet opens his mouth just as B’s tongue reaches the middle curve of his lip, a soft gust of hot breath sending a jolt of heat across B’s stomach.

He shifts to get his lips just that much closer, causing their teeth clack together, jarring B back to reality. He pulls away, drawing his knees up to his chest to hide his half-hard cock.

 _Jesus.  That uh. That was_.  His mind feels like a mass of spark and flame which is not producing coherant words at the moment. He reaches for his spoon to take a bite of the cool vanilla, and is surprised to find his hands are shaking.

“Thanks uh. I’d say I’m good for chocolate,” he blushes furiously as it dawns on him all at once what they’ve just done.

* * *

 

B’s mouth and tongue are warm, slick in a strange and alien way, but softer than L might’ve expected. One part of him can imagine laughing, blurting out _‘gross’_ while batting B away. That’s what he would have done just a few weeks ago, but something has changed and the other part of him now knows that this is more than a silly game – that the tingles building in his belly and the frozen breath in his throat signify something new and adult and slightly scary.

But maybe not scary enough. The ache in his groin is evidence enough of that.

Before he can think on it further, B’s tongue trails over his top lip and L instinctively releases his breath, his fingers stiff against the counter-top. One of them shifts forward, maybe back, and B’s teeth clip against L’s, abruptly shaking them out of the moment.

“Thanks uh. I’d say I’m good for chocolate.” B stares into his ice cream bowl, the pale skin around his throat a vivid pink, contracting in a swallow.

“Yeah.” L leans his head against the cabinet and stares at the ceiling, the tension in the air screaming at him to _do something_ , white fuzz filling his head like distant radio static. “Yeah,” he repeats, swallowing thickly. “I ought to clean up this mess.”

He dumps his dishes into the sink and runs a washcloth under the hot water, scrubbing the streaks of chocolate that somehow ended up all over the counter top.

 _The wet cloth gliding over the counter – B’s tongue, touching._ L jumps at the sound of B’s bowl being set in the sink, next to his own, almost dropping the wash cloth to the floor.

“Shit.” He laughs, wincing at the nervousness he hears there. “Guess that’s as good as I can manage.”

 _It’s just B. I’m not scared of B. I never have been_. A slow breath, then.

He steals himself and tosses the cloth into the sink, meeting B’s hazel eyes directly, his chin slightly turned up. “I guess I’m full enough to go straight to sleep.” He pauses, searching for some indirect acknowledgement of what’s just taken place, right here in the kitchen. “So. Maybe you could join me again if you like.”

He turns around before he can see B’s expression, exiting the kitchen on shaky legs.

It isn’t until he’s closed his bedroom door behind him that it hits him: without meaning to, he’s just unconsciously parroted back what B said back at the convention hotel.

_‘Maybe you can join me if you like.’_

* * *

 

_Midnight Snacks [do not edit or repost]_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual we are starved for feedback, so if you could leave a comment that would be wonderful <3


	6. May 22, 1993

**May 22 1993**

The next day passes faster than B anticipates– between going over the surveillance plan with A and Lawliet receiving the call from Maria returning the 10 K that very morning, they don’t have a lot of time to talk or even just sit with what happened last night.

 _It was a kiss, wasn’t it?_ B decides that, even as the day makes him doubt it. _Things don’t feel different._

 _But he said I could join him again sometime._ _That has to be something. That’s everything._

_Now I just have to make sure everything goes perfect with the case. Do what it takes to get Savant’s name. For L._

Before long, the late afternoon creeps up, and the three of them are gathered in A’s bathroom while B puts the finishing touches on his makeup. Every glance at Lawliet sends firecrackers of energy spreading across his skin. He channels it into Brianne’s character. She’s excited to see Paul, he knows.  

B borrows A’s mascara to emphasize his already luxurious eyelashes, and opts for a demure dark blue bob wig, which Brianne uses to cosplay as Sailor Mercury. _That’ll already put some ideas in his head._

The lipstick he chooses is a softer pink, meant to play down his lips a little.  It matches the mid-length skirt that A lends him, which creates the illusion of curves while still being demure. The ensemble is topped off by a tight cashmere sweater, which hugs the silicon to his chest in a way that’s just barely uncomfortable.  Brianne fancies herself a nice girl, but likes to surprise boys. _And knows a lot more about sex than her parents want her to._

Most of all, Brianne wants to be able to use her talents. She’s already made it clear to Paul that she’s interested in his work, and tonight she’s going to confess she wants to work for him and his ‘grey hats’. _Whatever that takes._

He purses his lips to smooth out the coating, then tries on the gentle lilt of Brianne’s voice, “Does this work okay?”

* * *

 

L watches silently as B smooths on makeup and lipstick, settles the wig over his hair, carefully arranges the items of pastel-coloured clothing. Each new added detail subtracts something familiar, leaving L with the uncomfortable sense that B is being slowly washed away, replaced with a stranger – a character. He’s so adept at this that it’s unsettling, even if L can’t deny the usefulness of it.

“Yes, it works.” His voice is a too gruff, so he smiles quickly to make up for it.

“Not bad” is the best A can do, but her eyes linger on B’s profile a little too long, her expression strange and faraway.

 _How much does she know?_ L’s cheeks heat up at the memory of B’s tongue tracing over his lip, so fast it almost feels like he dreamt it. A’s actions are a bit unpredictable, but she’s frightfully clever and sharp – she knows _something_ has changed, even if she hasn’t seen it with her own eyes.

Pushing the thought aside, L leaves the bathroom and fetches his case notebook off A’s bed. “Alright then. We might as well get going.”

Paul lives in the Crystal Palace area, a fairly long train ride from central London, so Wammy drives them there in his car. L strategically takes the front seat, mostly silent until the car passes near Sydenham Hill, the spot where the actual Crystal Palace burnt down so many years ago. Once the car has pulled up at the park near Paul’s residence, L turns around to face B and A in the backseat.

“We’ll keep the house in sight, but go no closer than this. It’s possible that Paul saw the car when we were at DEFF Con.” They both nod to that. “A, stand watch somewhere nearby, but keep out of sight.”

“No problem.” She zips up her track suit, the uniform of someone out for a jog in seasonal weather.

He narrows his eyes just slightly. “No storming into his house to break fingers, if you don’t mind. If we don’t get any useful info from Paul this time, we’ll try again later.”

“Of course not.” Her eyes widen as if broken fingers are the furthest thing from her mind.

Finally, he looks at B, seeing someone else there at first – blue synthetic hair, doll-like lashes. But then B’s mouth quirks just slightly, a gesture he’s seen hundreds of times before. L smiles back.

“I know you can handle yourself, but be careful, just the same.”

* * *

 

“Thanks,” B holds Lawliet’s gaze, a little emotion of his own slipping out into Brianne’s voice. _This is fine. This is what I do, and I can do it well,_ “See you in two hours.”

_I can do it for him, and I can do it for the case._

He keeps a slight skip in his step as he approaches Woodland Road. There’s nothing unusual about the address, just another narrow brick family home on a London road. Paul’s parents aren’t around in the evenings, as Brianne was well aware before coming over.

Brianne rings the doorbell, then politely waits. After what sounds like an elephant bounding down stairs, Paul answers the door, wearing a blue button-up that looks a tad too small for him, only tucked most of the way into his trousers. He also has a bouquet of pink roses, and is somewhat hunched behind it. _For when…I’m coming to his house?_

“Hi Princess. Queen. Uh, welcome,” he practically shoves the bouquet into B’s arms, then goes for what could be something between a handshake and a hug. Brianne just squeezes his hand awkwardly in return, flashing him a smile.

“Thanks for the flowers, they’re lovely. Do you mind if I just set them here?” B places them on the chest of drawers in the hallway as Paul nods far too quickly. _It’s not like I brought a vase, dumbass_

“It’s so nice to finally hear your voice, Princess, very, uh, melodious,” Paul looks too eager to please for that to be a lie, so B decides not to dwell on it too much.

“Wow, you really have a wonderful vocabulary,” B compliments him, which predictably makes him puff up with pride, “It’s nice to talk in person instead of the BBS.”

“I ordered in Indian food, thought perhaps something more exotic would be suitable?” Paul asks eagerly, and B has to fight not to cringe.

“That sounds perfect, Paul,” B smiles, summoning the thought of iced cream to make it less false. There are subtle beads of sweat along Paul’s forehead, and from the way his eyes keep flickering over A’s sweater, he’s got exactly what they expected on his mind. _That’s fine. He’ll be easier to distract._

Dinner passes without incident, after a few bites B decides the food is clean. _Not surprising, I didn’t think he’d be like the DARQs_ . The house has the used leather couch and family heirloom dining chairs typical of middle-class British families. _It’d be easy enough for someone like him to get the tech necessary for phreaking. But who’s the mastermind behind it?_

Brianne mostly listens with rapt attention as Paul rambles out reviews on different video games, and says a few words about her cosplay adventures, which Paul seems to appreciate. After dinner the initial discomfort has somewhat dissipated. B decides it’s time to make his move.

“Will you um, show me more about what it is you do? I’d really like to start using my hacking skills for something worthwhile, and work alongside you?”

Paul shifts uncomfortably as he clears Brianne’s plates, but seems to come to a decision, “It may seem forward of me, but may I take you up to my bedroom? To show you the setup.”

 _And do more,_ B can well tell where this is going, _but it’s also gonna get me what I came for._

“That suits me just fine, I know you’re a gentleman,” B raises an eyebrow as if to say _‘and you know what kind of girl I am’_. He can see Paul’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“So you may have heard on the feeds of the group known as p0isonLulz—I am the second-in-command to their operations.”

“Oh! Oh. I thought the p0isonLulz were black hats?” He keeps in step close to Paul as they climb the stairs to his room.

“People speak disparagingly of us, but I assure you, our work is more…nuanced than that. Yes, we repurpose money, but it is from the corrupt to the worthy,” Paul opens the door to his room and gestures grandly at an impressive setup of a PC surrounded by an assortment of microphones and repeaters, including, B notes, a blue box to generate a dial tone, “Command central.”

“Wow. Now I understand why you’re AFK so often. This is amazing,” B lets admiration color his voice, which pinks Paul’s cheeks slightly in a way B is sure he himself has looked from time to time. _Which, yeah, I guess I feel a little bit bad about. He really likes Brianne._

“I’m afraid I cannot confide too much about the nature of our work, as my friend and commanding officer, Dread Savant, would not approve. But I can put in a good word for you with him, and I’m sure before long we’ll be working side by side.”

“Of course, I bet he’s amazing, how long have you known him? I don’t know much about p0isonLulz but I’ve always been impressed with their operations, even if it wasn’t legal. And I’m glad to hear it’s not really black hat work. So glad,” B gives his best eager grin, and Paul falls for it hook, line and sinker.

“The mere length of a year? That’s a picture of us at DEFF con last year,” Paul points to a photo strip of himself with a younger boy dressed as Sonic the Hedgehog, who B recognizes as the kid glued to his Gameboy at Maria’s party. _Walter Scriever_ , B reads it off with an internal grin _. Bingo._ , “He is a true genius.”

“He looks it. I think I saw him at DEFF!” this appears to be rather the wrong thing to say, since Paul looks rather uncomfortable for a moment, as if he’s said too much. B swallows, changing the topic, and rearranging his hips into what A described as a ‘deadly flirty’ pose.

“And this is where you do your work?” Brianne runs her painted nails over the keyboard, “Now I know where to think of you being.”

“This is usually where I sit and, uh, think of you,” Paul settles into his office chair, looking a little downcast and expectant. _He’s almost hard,_ B realizes.

 _Right. Time to make him forget his name_ , _forget I asked about any of this._

“Uh, so uh,” B tries for an approximation of coy, which goes well with his own nervousness, “You said I didn’t have to ask?”

“Sure, um. Right,” Paul reaches for his zipper clumsily, looking distinctly confused, but turned on, as if he’s not quite sure if this is how romance works. He shuffles his pants down to his ankles and _yeah, now he’s hard._ It looks a little stark and alien, perhaps next to the blue of his shirt. Brianne purses her lips, slowly kneeling to get a better look. B can see in the way his eyes widen and his cock twitches, how this looks.

“Oh um, wow. Can I?”

“Yeah, uh—“ Paul’s voice cuts out to a groan as Brianne tentatively closes her hands over his length. B remembers how his mum used to drop to her knees at least once a week for some man who came by, someone with a fix, anyone who could get her what she needed. They’d slap her, most of the time, said she gave terrible blowjobs. _Don’t think of that right now. The last thing you need the memories to come back._

B focuses on working Brianne’s pink-painted fingertips tentatively up and down Paul’s ruddy flesh. _Not too well, cause he can’t know how experienced you really are_. Paul doesn’t even seem to be really there anyways, his eyes glassy and his breath coming in short, quick pants.

It is quick like he expects too, all it takes is leaning in a little closer, a curious gust of hot air at the tip. B knows enough to draw back out of the way as Paul spurts and groans. Besides, Brianne is more than a little freaked out, gasping and wiping  her hands on the rug.

There is an uncomfortable silence filled only by the sound of Paul’s panting. They catch each other’s eyes and look away almost guiltily. _God, he seems more ashamed than Brianne, even._

“Uh. Bathroom is down the hall, if you want,” Paul mumbles after a moment.

“Okay,” he squeaks in Brianne’s voice and gets right out of there. In the bathroom after he scrubs off his hands, he stares at his painted nails with a sudden desire to wash them again. _Jesus. I wonder if this is why mum spent so much time in the shower._

“Everything alright in there…Princess?” Paul’s voice has a bit of a skip to it, as shaky as B feels. B exhales, then heads out to face the other boy, eyes downcast and nervous.

_It’s okay. You got what you needed. Nothing else matters._

“Would it be okay if I went home I….I don’t want to risk my parents finding out,” B stammers through Brianne’s voice. Paul’s cheeks burn, and he looks away.

“Yeah, um. Whatever you want. I’ll see you on the forums, or later,” Paul avoids looking at him

“Yeah,” normally Brianne would brush a kiss on his cheek, but B doesn’t feel that up to it. It’s only when he slams the front door behind him that he realizes he left the bouquet of roses on the countertop, which no doubt will upset Paul.

He takes off at a bit of a run. _There’s no way I’m going back._

“You’re early,” A is leaning under the light of a lamppost at the intersection where they agreed to meet.

“Got what we needed,” B catches his breath, wanting the wig and the smell of Brianne off of him as soon as possible, “A name for Dread Savant, and some more info about the tech the phreakers use, too. Should be enough to close in on them. ”

“And you didn’t arouse his suspicions at all?” A looks disinterested, but B winces a little at her particular choice of words.

“That’s the last thing he’s thinking about right now.”

“Did he ask you for anything?”

“Handjob, sorta,” B says bluntly, as if that might exorcise the crawling sensation all over his skin. It helps a bit. _Brianne is uncomfortable. I’m fine. This is just what I do._ “And yeah, it happened. Kept him from thinking too hard, and it was pretty quick.”

“Of course it was,” A smirks, flipping her hair back, “Well done, though, Backup. Slick. Lars is gonna be thrilled that it went so smoothly.”

B shakes his head, returning to himself a little and desperately wanting a shower. He nods at A, “Course he will be.”

_This is what I do._

* * *

 

B’s mid-length skirt flutters a little as he walks toward the Christian’s residence with A close to his side, and L watches with silent intensity until they round the corner and are out of sight.

“Hm.” Wammy shifts in the car’s leather seat, his eyes unreadable behind his sunglasses. “If Paul wanted a girlfriend, why not Anna? It seems the less risky option.” It isn’t a criticism, but a genuine question – Wammy often inquires about the logic behind L’s decisions, but it’s usually because he’s curious about how he arrived at them.

“A doesn’t really know how to be the kind of girl that Paul would fancy.” L chews softly on the end of his thumb, the gesture somehow less soothing than usual.

“And Beyond does?” Wammy lowers his visor to cut the brightness of the late-afternoon sun. “Well, the boy does have a way with people, it’s true.” He chuckles softly at some memory and leans back into his seat.

Ten or so minutes pass, leaving L wishing he’d brought some chocolates with him, or some boiled sweets to suck on. He knows that the date might last two hours or even longer, depending on how much success B has, but the minutes are inching by damnably slow.

“I think I need some air.” He yanks on the car door handle and spills out onto the grassy lawn of the park. Far in the distance some kids are kicking around a football, but other than that the park is quiet. L finds a bench and settles into a crouch, flipping through his case notebook but not really focusing on any of the words written there.

What’s so risky about sending B in instead of A? Wammy’s words gnaw at him. B is less likely to do something unpredictable than A is, so he’s the safer bet for something as delicate as this, as far as L is concerned. But B isn’t an actual girl… maybe that’s what Wammy was getting at. Surely, though, Wammy realizes that L already took that into account, and decided that B’s acting and dress-up skills were good enough to fool Paul, especially since Paul was so smitten with ‘Brianne’ from a distance.

But this isn’t happening at a distance, anymore.

L frowns deeply, unable to stop images from filling his head: Paul dipping down to smell Brianne’s perfume, to compliment her sweater, perhaps even holding her hand while giving a guided tour of whatever nonsense collection he has in his room. But it won’t mean anything, the rational side of his brain insists. B is a good actor, and he’s a good detective. He’ll do what he has to.

But there it is again. B and A, going undercover and taking risks, while L sits on a bench and chews on his thumb. What rubbish.

He stews on that until the sun sets and a vast, bruising dusk settles in overhead. By then, though, he sees two figures come around the corner from Paul’s street, recognizable even in the advancing dark.

* * *

 

B can see Lawliet’s hunched figure in the light of the streetlamp, and already that makes him feel a little better. A has an arm looped around his, and at the very least the familiar shape of her thin arm keeps him from falling back into memories, recent or otherwise. He breaks off at a quickstep, eager to get close to Lawliet.

“It’s good that you’re back a bit early,” Lawliet smiles a little at him, and B nudges him in the shoulder, sitting heavily on the bench.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here. I wanna get this wig off,” he takes a deep breath, knowing L will want details right away, “Got what we needed. Walter Scriever– that stuck up kid with the Gameboy at DEFF.”

“That’s great. I remember him going by the name Harry at DEFF con, so that’s a point towards his suspicion,” Lawliet gives B a piercing, almost worried look for a flicker of a moment, “And it went alright?”

 _Guess about as well as I could have expected._ B hesitates a moment, his skin crawling again, and then the ugly feeling is gone as soon as it came.

“Tell him, B! Lars, he did so well,” A is practically gushing at this point, framing L’s other side and leaning in to tap B on the back. _Right, cause this is normal for us. Normal for me._

_This is what doing the job right looks like._

“He was a little suspicious, but he was horny like we thought,” B draws his knees to his chest, keeping his voice nonchalant. _Helps to have it out in the open_ , “I think the only thing he’ll remember was the shitty handjob Brianne gave him. He seemed embarrassed enough by how fast it went, anyways.”

* * *

 

_…shitty handjob’_

_‘embarrassed enough by how fast it went…’_

Snippets of words swirl around in L’s head, making no sense together, like a language he hasn’t learned yet.

 _B gave him a handjob._ It connects too fast, he jolts like he’s just bit down on his tongue.

“Walter Scriever.” L repeats the good part of their news, nodding his head in satisfaction even though it’s a beat too late and B wrinkles his brow, realizing that there’s something entirely amiss in L’s demeanor.

 _Tell him he did well. Get over it. You were the one who came up with this plan in the first place._ He rubs his palms against his knees and smiles, too hard. “A name is just what we need. Perfect.”

“Thanks to B’s gutsiness.” A pats B’s shoulder and grins, looking a little too much like a shark for L’s liking. He locks on her eyes, ice spreading through his limbs, and slips off the bench without a word.

L is jealous. There’s just no fighting it. Irrational, yes, but it’s there just the same, caught in the balled-up fists he thrusts into his pocket, fighting to keep out of sight. _How could he do that with a stranger, with someone he doesn’t even like_ ? He takes a few shuffling steps toward the car. _Because you basically asked him to, idiot._

“We should go.” His voice is stretched dry from the effort of trying to sound normal. “I’d like to start digging for info on Walter as soon as possible.”

Hopefully, the ride across town will bring him down to earth and back to normal.

* * *

 

Lawliet’s smile is far too wide, his movements far too stiff to be comfortable. B tightens his grip around his knees, then stands up suddenly, anger blossoming in his chest.

“Yeah, let’s get going,” B hears himself say. _Is he angry? Because I went through with it?_

_Well, what the fuck did he expect?_

B feels sick and a little bit dirty, keeping his eyes trained out the window as London turns over to the nightly drip of rain. He wonders if Lawliet took the front seat for a reason. _Don’t be stupid. He doesn’t think of you any differently. He knew this was going to happen._

Lawliet sure isn’t saying much about it, though.

Back at Marylebone, B immediately heads for the bathroom, locking the door and shucking off the tight pins in the wig.  He winces when it pulls at his hair, but the pain is a little grounding, if anything. Forcing himself not to look in the mirror, he strips down and starts the flow of hot water.

It’s not images of Paul that creep up at the edges of his vision, but his mother, crying on the cold tile, his mother, asleep again for god-knows what reason on the splintered hardwood of the hall. She hated it when B touched her. _‘Yeah, just make sure she’s not on her back_ ’, a voice in his ear whispers. That’s what his dad told him.

 _The fuck was that?_ B turns the shower to cold, hoping it’ll ground him a little. It’s been awhile since he’s heard things, though the visions still come. Albeit in shorter, more vivid bursts.

He scrubs his face till it’s red and he can quirk a smile at himself in the mirror again. S _ee, she’s gone. Nothing to do with me._ As a last step, he rubs the pink nail polish off his fingers, half enjoying the sharp smell of acetone, the way it grounds him. The hallways still flicker with yelling lips painted a cheap red. B hesitates, glancing at Lawliet’s door.

 _Are we still okay? Will he still–_ B swallows hard, unwilling to consider the alternative. But he has to know. B pushes the door open slowly, carefully meeting Lawliet’s eyes, as he glances up from his notes, a movie flickering on the telly.

“Hey um. Can I stay here for a bit? Keep seeing my mum.”

* * *

 

L’s eyes gaze snaps to the door as soon as he hears it creak open. He half-expects A to be there, given their terse exchange just a bit ago. B had just disappeared into the shower and A pulled L by the sleeve, steering him toward the study. “‘Scriever,’ eh? Let’s get on the computer – I bet we can find something.”

Normally, L would have done just that, but he shrugged her off instead. “I have a headache. It can wait until morning.” He didn’t and doesn’t have a headache, but there’s some kind of ache, just the same, and the car ride from Crystal Palace to Marylebone did little to lift it away. He would usually find researching a case to be a welcome distraction, but not _this_ case.

A had only gawped at him in disbelief. “I thought you were eager to get started? Fine. I’ll do it now even if you won’t.” And with that she had flounced into study, slamming the door behind her.

But it isn’t A creeping in through his bedroom door, it’s B, his eyes cast downward and his shoulders a little slumped. L brushes aside the papers easily – he wasn’t really reading them anyway – and looks at B expectantly.

“Hey um. Can I stay here for a bit? Keep seeing my mum.”

L nods and shifts over to make room on the bed, noticing that B looks rather small and somehow vulnerable in his baggy pajamas, his face pink in a way that looks more like irritation than regular blushing.

 _If he’s having visions then I guess that means that he didn’t enjoy himself…_ L tries very hard not to feel too much relief about that, but a little creeps in just the same, making guilt squirm somewhere deep inside his chest.

“Oh, you’re watching your least favourite Indy movie.” B nestles into the pillow, his eyes on the television.

 _Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom._ B’s favourite Indy movie. “It was in the VCR. Probably been there for a few years.”

“Mmm.” B tilts his head against L’s shoulder, his fingers skimming along his arm and then around his wrist. It feels different than the contact they’d had in the kitchen late at night – touch in search of comfort and nothing more. Like what they’d had before, when they were ten. Eleven.

The pads of B’s fingers press against the inside of L’s wrist, searching out a pulse. The first time B had done that, a month or so after he arrived at Wammy’s, L asked why and B explained that the rhythm felt safe, because he knew that it was real and that it wasn’t going anywhere.

* * *

L shifts enough so that his cheek is pressed against the top of B’s head. _“M’here. Okay?”_

“Mhm,” B leans into the familiar smell of Lawliet’s skin, familiar words whispered for comfort. The warm cleanness of the shower starts to settle into his skin. _He’s not hesitating, either._

 _Still the same Lawliet who picked me up off the streets and gave me someone I could be._ The pulse feels gentle and soothing under his fingertips. His mother’s screams at the devil fade on his ears.

 _He’s still my friend._ B flinches as his eyes traverse the room, catching a doll-like pair of grotesque monster eyes glaring from the window.

“It’s just us, and Indy,” Lawliet murmurs quietly, curling his fingers back to touch B’s.

“I trust you,” he mumbles, as he’s done many times when Lawliet has promised something to be real or unreal. They sit in silence, watching Shorty and Indy play cards in the middle of the jungle, while Willy’s screams turn his memories into something he can almost smile at. It’s such a familiar warmth settling in his chest, much like the wintertime fireplace at Wammy’s.

 _It still feels safe_. B realizes when Lawliet leans back to rest on the pillows as well, gathering up his notes and flicking off the lights to watch the last half hour of the film.

By the time the credits roll, Lawliet has faded into sleep, the bones of his arm still wrapped around B’s. This time, B doesn’t hesitate to tug the blankets overtop of them, settling back into a contentment he hadn’t realized he had gotten used to in the last two years.

_Glad it’s still here. He’s still here._

_Indy and Willy - [do not edit or repost]_

 

 


	7. May 23, 1993

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Underage nsfw in this chapter and a whole lot of fluff. Seriously. We will never have anything more overtly fluffy in the main beats, like ever (can't promise about the Leads, but yes).

**May 23 1993**

L wakes from a pleasant dream that he doesn’t quite remember, but his stretch is a full-body smile that has him curling his toes into the sheets. Thin light pokes its way through the curtains and patterns the wallpaper, the streets outside sounding rain-washed. B shifted away from him in the night, but his arm is still tossed over L’s torso, fingers loosely curled into a corner of his tee-shirt.

Rolling over onto his side, L catches B’s hand before it slides off him and onto the mattress, careful to keep the touch gentle enough not to wake him. B’s eyes are rolling around beneath paper-thin eyelids, but the dreams must not be bad – his breath is too deep and relaxed.

L watches his best friend for several quiet minutes, a soft and fatigued fascination tugging at him. B’s eyelashes are so dark and long, resting flush against his eye sockets in a way that L can only think of as perfect. Summer freckles are starting to show on his cheeks, too, a half-dozen or so sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. L tries to count them but loses track.

Last night’s tender comfort still lays over the room like a haze, but there’s another sensation building, too. It’s not just that L is hard (though he is), it’s that the ache that gripped him last night is still there – only this time it’s warm and certain instead of fraught and confusing.

B’s eyes flutter open just as L considers counting his freckles again, meeting L’s with a wrinkle of confusion that fades almost at once. L knows that he’s been caught staring, but he doesn’t much care.

“Hey.” L’s fingers wrap around B’s wrist this time, feeling for the pulse – it seems fast.

B’s lips quirk into a half smile. “Hey.” L watches the shape his mouth makes as he breathes out the words.

* * *

 

B sits up slowly on his elbows, blinking against sleep and the rush of heat to his face, waking to Lawliet’s unblushing, brazen stare. _Or… are his cheeks pink too?_ B squeezes Lawliet’s wrist back, wondering if he should say something else.

 _Sleep okay?_ The question sticks in his throat, fuzzing slightly as he takes in the full force of Lawliet’s searing coal-eyes, the press of Lawliet’s fingertip against his jackrabbit pulse.

He tilts his head, smiling just a little bit at Lawliet again.

And _then–_ so slowly that B almost doesn’t believe it’s happening at first, Lawliet leans in, tilting his head and fluttering his soft eyelids shut. _Oh–_ B’s eyes instinctively close just as Lawliet’s lips brush his.

_Oh._

The gentleness of it abstractly reminds B of a fire breathing to life, the taste of sweet cherry gummies, but mainly, the sun on the forest river in the wintertime, unexpectedly _warm_ . B’s lips part against Lawliet’s, taking in the strange and sweet taste of his tongue, and the heat blossoms in B’s chest, fingertips, _everywhere._

* * *

Funny how easy it is for L to forget how his hands are shaking, to forget about what this ‘means’ and just let it _be_ . They’re _kissing_ , and once that soaks in, it starts to feel… indescribably good. It isn’t just that B’s lips are soft and that the touch of his tongue sends little _zings_ of pleasure racing through L’s body – there’s a contentment far more complex than that. L doesn’t bother to put a name to it but relishes it just the same, even as it drives him to wish he could crawl inside B, somehow.

He settles for touching B, instead, fingertips dragging up his bare arm, the side of his neck, then finally landing in his mussy hair, which he musses further by dragging his hand through it. B let’s out a strained little sigh and runs his fingers down L’s back, navigating the ridges of his ribs and spine.

 _That’s right, he likes rib cages and bones…_ the realization makes L smile giddily, even huff a slight laugh against B’s mouth.

“What?” B whispers, his expression puzzled as he pulls away slightly.

L just shakes his head, cupping the back of B’s neck and meeting his lips again, exploring less tentatively than before, all the sounds of the world going silent except for the rustle of the sheets and the breath building between them. He’s only dimly surprised when he shifts closer and feels a soft jab in the crook of his hip, a loose gasp slipping from B’s lungs at the same time. They still have the fabric of their pajamas between them, but when L shifts closer again, unthinkingly, the pressure against his hard-on is shockingly pleasant.

_We could just keep doing that and I’d probably…_

He pulls away and catches his breath, his hand slipping down to B’s shoulder as he smiles nervously, heart ping-ponging inside his chest. “Um.” He swallows and moves his hand down further, until his thumb is resting on the waistband of B’s baggy pajama bottoms. His gaze inevitably follows, taking in the tented cloth, the slice of white skin between the pajamas and B’s slightly rolled-up tee-shirt. “Would it be alright if I…?” He doesn’t finish the question, but tugs just slightly at B’s waistband, instead.

* * *

 

“Yeah, um, yes–” B stares unabashedly at Lawliet’s bulging pajama pants, following the lines of his ribs to look him in the eyes, nod encouragingly. Lawliet nods back, eyes serious but black with fire.

_Christ, I’ve been thinking about this for long enough, and now–_

B’s gasp turns more raw as Lawliet’s long fingers trail along his hipbone, tentatively taking hold of the waistband and fumbling them down his thighs. It takes a moment of shifting before B is fully naked, gasping again when Lawliet’s fingers brush his cock.

“You too?” B says hoarsely, and Lawliet nods back eagerly, settling back to let B strip him completely bare. He’s just hooked his thumb along the edge of the soft flannel when a creak sounds from the floorboards. They both flinch away, B slipping his body underneath the relative safety of the blankets.

“Shit, fuck–” he whispers, terror gluing his eyes momentarily to the door. It doesn’t open, but the shadow lingers there.

_As if someone is there, but just…listening._

“A. It’s got to be,” Lawliet breathes back. They exchange a dark glance, and then Lawliet’s lips curve upwards just a tiny bit. Into what B can only describe as a shit-eating grin.

B can’t help it, he starts to giggle a little bit, which causes Lawliet to laugh a bit too, dropping the covers and grinning at B with eyes that sparkle with mischief.

 _So she knows. So what? Really, what is the worst that can happen now that I’m naked and in Lawliet’s fucking bed?_ He gets ahold of his laughter enough to find his boxers among the folds of the duvet.

“As much as I don’t wanna say this,” he whispers to Lawliet, smirking wryly, “Best pick this up later, we know she’s fucking terrible at knocking.”

* * *

L is admittedly disappointed that the spectre of A has interrupted them, but he has to concede that B has a point: they actually shouldn’t do much more than kiss until they’re back in Winchester and the sanctuary of L’s room.

 _But even just kissing, yeah…that was something._ He smiles in what he can feel is a rather daft way as he watches B scramble back into his clothes. There are a few faint freckles along B’s shoulder blades, too.

And as for A – she’ll find out eventually, if she hasn’t figured it out already, with her snooping and her radar for subtle change.

 _I don’t want to hide this, anyway,_ L realizes. Any shame or trepidation that gnawed at him before has been utterly swept away in the last ten or fifteen minutes. It would simply be far too inconvenient for him to pretend that he and B haven’t changed, and so he won’t. Simple as that.

He pulls his tee shirt back on and tries to discreetly arrange his erection so that it’s mostly unnoticeable, grabbing a clean pair of jeans and underwear and shielding himself behind them. “Guess I better get in the shower and run the water ice-cold.” He flashes B a grin and walks carefully to the door. The shadow hovering at the bottom of it is gone, and he finds the hallway empty, though there’s noise coming from the kitchen – the sound of the kettle being filled.

After he’s showered and decent, he heads to the kitchen and finds A scribbling in that powder-blue notebook again, which she flips shut as soon as she sees L in the doorway.

“Watari’s gone out for milk and some other things. We’re all out.” She purses her lips together and brushes a few strands of hair out of her face, looking hard at L to see if he’ll look away first. He doesn’t, jamming his hands into his pockets and slouching against one of the counters – trying not to think about how B licked chocolate sauce off his cheek in this very room.

“You have the look of someone who was up late working,” he says mildly, anticipating that she’s just about to make an announcement about her work effort in comparison to both his and B’s.

“I was.” Her eyes drift to the doorway as B enters, his cheeks a little ruddy as he slips by L and fills a glass with water. “Guess what I found out about Scriever’s family?”

“They’re rich? Possibly, one of his parents works in banking.” It’s a guess based on the profile of Dread Savant that L has been turning over in his head. Paul clearly saw the p0isoN Lulz as on a noble mission or sorts, and poor people rarely steal for ideological reasons.

A sets her pen next to her notebook with a clipped sound. “What a lucky guess.” Her smile is wan. “His father is, in fact, one of the CEO’s with Barclays. He’s got a flat near Canary Wharf, but the wife and kids are out in Salisbury, knocking around in a big Georgian country house.”

“Mmm. Very useful.” He gives her a nod – because it _is_ useful, honestly. “How’d you track that down?”

“Called Barclays as soon as they opened and told the thick-headed secretary that I was a journalist writing a profile on Edward Scriever and some other CEOs. She gave me all sorts of information on them, I barely had to prod her.”

Her smug smile is a bit deserved, L supposes, so he nods again. “Good.”

"Yes. So I’ve been busy, you see.” Her eyes tick back and forth, prowling from L to B. “Not sure what you two were wasting your time doing…probably better if I don’t know, if I want to enjoy my breakfast.”

* * *

 

“Well that’s just none of your fucking business, now, is it?” B’s voice is saccharine-sweet as he raises an eyebrow at A, anger flaring up in spite of himself. _Yeah, like you were ever going to give me advice about how to seduce anyone._

“Don’t make me do all the work and it won’t have to be,” she bares her teeth in an imitation of a smile at B. _God, how pathetic are you, Adder?_

 _Like you would_ ever _try to help me. I should have known._ B can’t help but feel a little smugness mix with his anger when Lawliet takes a seat next to him. He carefully nudges his ankle over to touch Lawliet’s, catching the way Lawliet’s lips curve upwards in his peripheral vision.

“So, do you think we can strong-arm Maria into poking around for us? As our ‘favour’?”

“I was thinking of that,” Lawliet nods through a mouthful of porridge, “Their home will undoubtedly have tight security, which I’m confident will pose an interesting challenge to her.”

“You two are so naive,” A doesn’t look up from her scribblings, “Do you two honestly think it’s a good idea to trust a thief with something this sensitive?”

“Well I dunno, it’s not as if any of us know too much about break-ins?” B glares at her, suddenly less hungry.

“Some of us have technical skills that go beyond whoring out to get what we want.”

 _Oh you can fuck_ right _off._

B drops his spoon into his bowl, “I don’t know, A, you seemed perfectly willing to act like a slut if you thought it’d get you attention. Is it my fault you were shitty at it? Maybe if you follow my lead next time you can be the one handling someone’s sweaty dick, since you seem so desperate for it.”

* * *

A leans back in her chair, a flicker of hurt just behind her smug smile. “I wouldn’t have to go so far as touching someone’s dick to get info. It’s called ‘playing hard to get,’ genius.”

“Guess what, _genius_? Playing hard to get doesn’t do shit to get you want you want. But then I think you fucking knew that, didn’t you Adder? Too bad I’ve got you all figured out.”

L feels B’s foot tremble against his – he’s not just angry, he’s _upset_. The words are snide and ugly, from her and B both – but A is the one trying to provoke a fight to assuage her own jealousy, and if L enables her, she’ll just return to that tactic again in the future.

* * *

 

“A, come talk with me for a moment.” L squeezes B’s knee briefly from under the table, then slides out of his chair and walks out of the kitchen without checking to see if she follows. It’s best to leave no quarter for debate.

He leads her through the sitting room and into the entry way to the penthouse, far enough away from the kitchen that B should have difficulty overhearing them. A plops on to the cushioned bench where they take off their wellies on rainy days, glancing up at him through deliberately lazy eyes. “Well, then?”

“Don’t question methods when they’ve already led to good results. It’s a waste of time.” He keeps his voice as free of emotion as possible. Emotion is something for her to tug at, to craft into a tool. “As for technical skills…” he points to the alarm system panel next to the front door. “If you can disarm that without punching in the code, please give me a demonstration.”

She draws back, her head cocked warily. “Right now?”

“Please.”

Popping to her feet, she gives him a newly confident smile. “Be happy to.” She situates herself in front of the alarm panel and studies it for several minutes, making little _hmm_ -ing noises under her breath. “Well, I think I could manage it in a day or two, if I just research the circuitry of this particular model…”

“Any of us could manage it in a day or two,” L says calmly. “But then there would be the trial and error of testing before mastery. And we don’t even know if the security system at the Scriever’s home is anything like this.”

A shadow falls over A’s features. She senses where this is going.

“Maria has been doing this for years. I’ll be asking her to case the house out and manage the break-in. You can be her handler.”

She doesn’t wilt at this announcement but grows taller, thrusting her chin out a little. “That thief stole _your_ laptop, Lars. What if information on your real identity had been on there and she’d sold it to the highest bidder? Would you still want her working for you then? She’s just a common criminal!” A note of pleading enters her voice, the corners of her mouth collapsing into a frown; an innocent maiden protesting in the name of righteous decency.

L can only stare at the display in silence for a moment, astounded by the level of irony that it contains.

“Anna…” He uses her real name deliberately, to remind her of who she is. It’s a little unkind, maybe. But necessary. “You murdered your stepfather. You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”

She pales and flinches so dramatically that he may as well have thrown ice water on her, her balled-up fists coming to her eyes as if to drive back the sight of him. That was the cold case he solved in Detroit two years ago: A’s abusive stepfather, killed not in a drunken fight with a friend, but at the hands of a child who was able to stump the investigating officers.

“And you’ve earned my trust despite that,” he adds carefully. Then, after a pause: “I just wonder when I’ll earn yours.”

She can’t even look at him, her head drooped as she turns for the sitting room. “I’m going back to bed,” she mumbles, her steps a little staggered. “Just wake me up when you’ve decided what we’re doing next. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Peace, then – but not the kind that L feels particularly good about.

* * *

B forces down a few more nibbles of porridge, then gives up and heads for the bathroom, the sudden desire to wash his hands crawling over him again. _It’s okay. Lawliet is dealing with it._

After he shakes the rose-scented suds off his hands, he turns to stare at himself in the mirror. His hair is still tousled from Lawliet’s handling of it, which makes him smile a little. _Same eyes._ _Same me._

As he bites his lip and studies himself, he catches A shuffling down the hall, arms hugged around her stomach. _She looks…fucking wrecked_. B can’t help but feel a tiny bit elated about that, but the spite extinguishes itself pretty quickly when he sees her fumble with the doorknob to her room, close to tears.

When he slips back into the kitchen, Lawliet is calmly doing up his own porridge, eyes downcast while he spoons canned peaches and a little bit of cream. He smiles a little bit when B catches his eye though, and despite his uncertainty, B smiles back.

“Hey, did that…go okay? Thanks for that,” he takes Lawliet’s hand, resting on the tabletop, and squeezes it before contemplating his own breakfast again.

“I think I’ve got her to settle down for the moment,” Lawliets takes a big bite of the porridge, squeezing B’s hand back.

“Jesus, I guess you were right about the jealousy, though,”   _I almost feel bad for her. Almost._

B takes a few of the peaches and manages another bite of his porridge, which seems more appetizing now that the nervous lump in his stomach is starting to give way, “You know she told me to play hard to get, huh? With you? Thought she was giving me useful advice. Hah.”

* * *

“Mm.” L nods slightly though his mouthful of food, a little curious about what B and A discussed regarding him, but too shy, really, to ask for more details. “She advised me to play dumb – not that I was soliciting advice in the first place.” He wipes his mouth and swallows down the last of his breakfast, taking both his and B’s empty bowls to the sink.

“A is a snoop. She wants to know everything about everyone, when it comes down to it, and she’ll use almost any technique she can think of to gather the information she desires.” L picks up the last apple in the fruit basket and starts nibbling at it, B looking up at him through a beam of searing sunlight. “It’s part of what makes her a good investigator, but I think it might also be a way to feel like she has control over an uncertain world.” He keeps his voice low as he returns to the kitchen table and takes his seat next to B, though he sort of doubts that A is snooping at this _particular_ moment.

“One of the methods she has for digging information out of people is by saying something dramatic or insulting, then watching how they react to it.” He lifts an eyebrow at B in a pointed way, smiling a little. “Sometimes it works a little too well on you.”

B bites his lip a little. “Yeah, well. She could just ask me instead of being such a fucking snake all the time. She does actually give some good advice sometimes. Or so I thought. Maybe she’s always got something else that she wants.” His gaze darkens, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip again.

L thinks people do _lots_ of things with an agenda in mind, himself included, but A’s motives are frequently a mystery to him, and he often wonders if they’re a mystery to her, as well.

Before he can navigate that topic with B, though, the flat’s front door opens and Wammy’s warm voice trails in, speaking to someone in low murmurs.

 _A guest?_ B and L exchange puzzled looks.

“Hello, boys.” Wammy comes into the kitchen with a small sack of groceries, greeting them with a mild smile. “I just picked up a few essentials while I was out.”

He nods to the kitchen’s entry just as L smells the cigarette smoke.

“Hey.” Maria slumps against the door frame and drops a heavy duffel bag to the ground, her slim frame wrapped in a lightweight black trench coat. “I guess we’re going to Salisbury, then.”

* * *

B leaves Lawliet to explain the goals of the break-in, while Maria makes a few requests for time frame and resources. _Yeah, it is kind of nice to have an expert on this job._ After all, the three of them can’t be expected to be skilled at everything.

 _But A…she wishes she was._ B hesitates a little at her bedroom door, then braces himself to knock.

“Yes?” the voice on the other side _sounds_ even at least. But it is without its usual bite.

“We’re packing up to head out.”

“Okay.”

 _Are you okay?_ He wants to ask, but isn’t at all sure that’ll end well. He lets it be for now, tossing his clothes and sketchbook to the bottom of his ratty suitcase.

It doesn’t take long till they’re all packed at the door, with A looking as cool and collected as if nothing has happened. She even nods respectfully at Maria, who offers a wan smile back. Though B can tell– she’s changed her mascara.

_Look, I won’t feel guilty about it._

“Good to have you on board,” he grins at Maria, trying to ignore the tension. He nods at Lawliet, his smile softening, “We ready to head?”

* * *

The drive West will be approximately an hour and a half, so L snags the middle seat in order to lean forward and hash out plans with Maria, sat up front next to Wammy. The gentle pressure of B’s knee against his own is nice, too, as are the pleasantly fuzzy thoughts roaming in the back of his head, not quite daring to fully imagine what might happen when they’re next alone again.

“Can’t believe wee Harry is Dread Savant. And his real name Walter, at that?” Maria’s words are punctuated with ferocious gum-chewing, having been gently banned from smoking in Wammy’s car. “It’s always the quiet ones, though.”

“Did you know anything about him before now?” L’s opted for lemon drops rather than chewing gum.

“I saw him with Paul a few times, that’s all. Seemed a little too young and aloof to be anyone important.” She tsks under her breath. “That’ll teach me.”

They stop for supplies at a hardware store between London and Salisbury, grabbing some lunch at a Nando’s before hitting the road again (though Maria spends most of her lunch break outside catching up on cigarettes). Once they’re back in the car, L launches into specifics.

“Walter lives with his mother and six-year-old brother in a posh country house. Their father comes down from London every other weekend or so, from the looks of it.” He studies Maria’s profile, her jaw working busily at the gum again. “How would you case out a place like that?”

“'I’d need a few days to observe. See if I can get a feel for the routines of the household. With a big old house like this, I’ll be looking to see if there’s any housekeeping staff, and if so, when do they arrive and when do they leave.” She speaks with the authority of someone who’s done this for years and has her methods down pat, and L can feel by B and A’s silence that they’re both listening carefully. “Then I’ll try to figure out a few more things. How does dear Mrs Scriever spend her days? And when are Walter and baby brother out of the house? Finally, I’ll need to get a look inside.”

He runs a finger along his lower lip, interested. “Before you break in? How do you manage that?”

“Binoculars and a rooftop, in the case of your flat.” She gives Wammy a wary glance, as if expecting admonishment. When none comes, she returns to staring out at the passing landscape. “A big old country house is trickier. I’ll need to get in the front door. Probably pose as some door-to-door do-gooder. Someone with church pamphlets, maybe.” She cranes her head far enough to look into the backseat and fix her gaze on A. “Even better if Alex is along for that. Two girls – one of us asks to use the loo while the other keeps the occupant busy with chatter.”

A lifts her eyebrows. “Clever.”

Both the word and gesture leave L fairly certain that A will be content, at least, to play Maria’s handler.

Salisbury, as it turns out, is eerily reminiscent of Winchester, with a breathtaking, historic cathedral and river that cuts right through the village. The population size and demographics are nearly identical, as well, but it’s the water meadows and thick forests outside of the village that give L a sudden pang of homesickness. He presses his knee more firmly against B’s.

The car finally pulls up at a large, rambling Victorian estate that’s been converted into a hotel with manicured grounds and a sparkling glass conservatory.

“I stayed here fifteen or sixteen years ago,” Wammy says, opening the car door for Maria. “They do a splendid high tea.”

* * *

Despite just over three years at Lawliet and Wammy’s speed, B still isn’t quite used to the idea of crystal chandeliers and high tea being everyday. Still, it is a step up from the Con hotel in London, and probably at least as elegant as Marylebone, judging from the rich carpet in the lobby.

“The Scriever estate is not far from here–” A muses, pointedly not looking at L or B, then fixing Maria with a stare, “How would you feel about starting right now? We can head out together for a look around.”

Maria is already reaching for a cigarette, but smirks a little at A’s eagerness, “As long as you’ve got something we can keep a low profile in, Alex. After all, he would know of both of us from the con.”

“Of course– but I highly doubt my clothes would fit you,” A spits out the last few words almost defiantly.

“Not what I meant– I have my own. But yeah, let’s dump our stuff and get started,” Maria smiles easily, and A forces a smile back.

 _That’s Ace for you, I guess. Always headed straight to work._ B’s stomach does a flip-flop as he realizes at the counter that Wammy has gotten three rooms– one for him, one for the girls… _and one for me and Lawliet._

 _Well, that’s convenient._ He flashes Lawliet a smile– and _oh, there’s that shit-eating grin again._ After Wammy sews up the rooms and passes out the keys, he turns his attention to Lawliet.

“What say you boys to heading into town while the ladies investigate? I recall a bookstore I wouldn’t mind revisiting, if you’re up for it?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” B turns to Lawliet, who nods in assent. His smile has softened to something a little more soft and curious. He has a sudden desire to lace their fingers together, _but yeah, maybe now’s not the time._

_Maybe we’ll get a moment in town later. And if not– we might stay here for days or a week, even._

* * *

The hotel might be near the Scriever’s estate, but they have to take the car into town, and again L is struck by how much Salisbury reminds him of Winchester, though he supposes that all small towns in the South of England resemble each other to some degree. The book store that Wammy takes them to smells of old leather and ink, the books arranged around slouchy leather chairs, much like a library. L wanders the aisles for several minutes, rounding a shelf full of poetry before bumping into B in the “true crime” section.

“Wammy could spend a few hours in here, I bet.” He sidles up to B, a slight smile etched on his features. “Shall we go tell him that we’re going to explore the rest of town?”

B nods with a grin. “Yeah, let’s.”

Wammy manages to bid them goodbye even with his nose stuck in an old history tome, promising to meet them in two hours by the High Street gate. Outside the dim shop the sun is bright, drying the earlier rain into scant puddles, and Maria and A are admittedly far from L’s mind as he heads down the street with B by his side. They head into a thrift shop first, trying on a few items of clothing that might be useful for future disguises. That’s how L ends up in a pair of paint-spattered builder’s overalls, so large that he has to role the cuffs up several times to not trip over them.

“What do you think?” he asks when he comes out of the single dressing room. He likes how roomy and baggy the overalls are.

B wheezes with laughter. “You look too funny, practically swimming in them. I bet we could both fit inside those.”

L lifts an eyebrow. “That could be fun to try.”

B reddens a little but keeps laughing; it’s enough to make L laugh, too. He buys the overalls. B gets an oxblood-coloured suit jacket with slim lapels, like something out of that film about mods in the 1960′s – _Quadrophenia._ They walk through town with the packages bumping between them, stopping into various shops to look at electronics, board games, and rare antiques. When they finally turn down a street of businesses that runs alongside the river, they find a group of kids around their age loitering by the water, some of them chatting, others playing around with small, radio-controlled boats.

“Let’s sit a while.” B settles down on a grassy outcropping and L crouches for a moment beside him, then settles onto his bum, legs stretched out long next to B’s. They watch the boats race upstream, their hands clasped together beneath the cover of their purchases.

* * *

Though the world Lawliet lives in feels like one he might never get used to, holding Lawliet’s hand amidst the soft grass in the town feels as natural as breathing. _More, even_ . B has never felt quite this _at home_ amidst the whistle of the breeze through the willows and alder bushes.

“Maybe we ought to take a boat down the Itchen sometime?” B muses, knocking his knee gently against Lawliet’s while Lawliet works his shoes off to bare his toes to the sunlight.

“That would be nice, especially if the weather is clear. Seems a quiet place to think, for certain.”

“Maybe not too quiet,” B grins as one of the boy’s yells raucously at their racing boats across the river, “But yeah, I’d bring my sketchbook down too.”

“Maybe we could get radio-boats of our own–” Lawliet trails off, staring at a familiar figure hunched over what could be a radio controller.

 _Or a Gameboy._ “Shit–” B breathes, tugging on Lawliet’s arm just as the two of them start upright, Lawliet grabbing his shoes as they try to get away. They skitter along the riverbank, tucking themselves behind a bush. Lawliet lets out a little gasp as they try to get a vantage point on Walter.

“What, you okay?”

“Nothing, just stepped on some berries,”  Lawliet shakes off his toes, which are now slightly purple. They’re tucked in close together– the bush doesn’t allow for a ton of cover behind them, but in front the foliage is quite thick. _There’s no way the kids along the bank can see us._ From the tiny window of leaves B can see, that seems to be where Walter is headed.

“I think we’re safe,” Lawliet exhales, his breath shivering across B’s skin.

“Yeah–” B slips a hand on Lawliet’s shoulder, heart beating quickly, but not just from adrenaline now. _Do I need to ask_ ? _Is this okay?_ He slides his thumb on Lawliet’s neck so that Lawliet’s face tilts towards him with a slight smile, “We’re good.”

* * *

“I think we’re safe.” L is half-focused on taking notes to give to Maria later – _Walter hangs out by the riverside shops when school lets out –_ when he feels B’s warm hand slide across his shoulder.

“Yeah. We’re good.” One of B’s fingers grazes the side of his neck. Or maybe it’s his breath, since they’re practically sitting top of each other, one of L’s legs hooked across B’s knee. He still has his hands curled inside his shoes, and the dirt is soft under his bare feet, a frond of shrubby so close that it’s tickling the back of his neck.

The gold flecks in B’s eyes blur together as he shifts even closer, prompting L to part his lips automatically. His senses have already sharpened to this new kind of body language: the drop of B’s gaze to his mouth, then drifting lower, his chest expanding with deeper breaths. It’s a quick, furtive kiss at first, almost sweet – a series of hungry little nibbles interrupted by wary glances toward the riverbank, then the sidewalk just up the hill behind them. The bushes provide decent coverage, and the shouts of the boat-racing teens seem far away – farther yet the more that he and B kiss.

Even though he’s long since forgotten his shoes and has his arms locked around B’s shoulders, one hand clawing inelegantly at the back of his hair, some part of L knows that A would stage a full-on coup if she could see them right now. Making out in public, and nearly spotted by Walter Scriever – which could have been disastrous for the case. Yes, she would definitely try to declare them unfit for duty.

They should stop, maybe. Probably.

L manages to pull away a little. “What if someone sees?” He’s more curious than worried, not quite able to forget how this all started in the first place: B having a wank out in the woods, and L catching him unawares. “Are you worried?”

* * *

“We’re pretty covered here,” B runs a hand through his hair, unable to stop the soft exhale, gazing at Lawliet’s lips, “Are you?”

“No. Maybe I should be,” he glances over to Walter and the gang of kids, who still seem preoccupied, for now. _Yeah, I guess we oughta make sure he doesn’t get much closer, or that we can slip out when he’s distracted._

“Too risky to leave right now?”  L nods and they rearrange into a more comfortable position for observation, legs still pressed together amidst the dirt and dead leaves. B does linger a bit on the thought of who might know _…or who Lawliet would want to know._

The kids at Wammy’s, at least, know them as cousins. _So we might wanna avoid that awkward conversation._ A undoubtedly already knows, which is a conversation B is pointedly avoiding for now. _I mean, what would we tell anyone, anyways?_

_What are we, really, right now?_

B isn’t sure how to answer that question. But the explosion of fire-winged butterflies that usually overwhelm his chest in Lawliet’s presence have settled to a warm flicker, that glows whenever he looks at the curve of Lawliet’s smile, the bones of his hand warm in B’s. _I’m not afraid of the answer, at least_. Lawliet’s fingers, squeezing his back, are confirmation that some things won’t take too long to address.

_Maybe tonight, even. If we get to talking._

“There–” Lawliet points as Walter breaks off from the group, heading back towards the street, and into the electronics shop he and B had just visited, “We’ll have to look into that place as a supplier for his tech, but later.”

“Now’s our chance,” B nods, and they both book it up to the street, in the general direction of Wammy’s car– _oh, there’s the old man, perfect_. B rounds the corner, with Lawliet behind him, stopping just short of barrelling into Wammy.

“Hey! We almost got spotted by Walter. Apparently he leaves his house after all– can we head back the hotel?” B blurts out to the the old man, who looks more shaken than usual by their sudden appearance.

* * *

“Hello, boys.” Wammy’s words sound curiously flat, but he quickly smiles and glances at their packages. “I see we’ve finished our shopping at the same time. I’m ready to return if you are.”

It isn’t until he’s crawling into the car that L notices how mussed B’s hair is. He tentatively pats at his own and finds a curled leaf caught in the strands. _Wammy must wonder what we were up to._ But he didn’t ask – he usually doesn’t. L spends the duration of the drive quietly thankful for that fact.

They return to the hotel only a few minutes before A and Maria come back from their stakeout, A looking red-cheeked and rather proud of herself, though Maria is mostly cool, unflappable in a way that makes L wonder if her bubbly personality at DEFF Con was primarily an act.

“Can I smoke in here?” She flicks her lighter before he even answers. They’ve gathered in B and L’s hotel room for now, one of the double beds already rumpled from A’s sprawled figure.

“Ooh, toss me your lighter,” she calls out, wiggling her fingers. The room slowly fills with blueish smoke.

“We didn’t find out as much as I wanted to, but it was a start.” Maria stands at the window, looking out through a slit in the curtains. “Looked like no one was there when we arrived, but just before four o’clock a woman showed up in a van with a load of groceries. The housekeeper, I expect. She probably cleans in the morning, runs errands in the afternoon, cooks at night, then goes home. Mrs Scriever showed up around five with the younger son. No sign of Walter, though. I suppose he might’ve been holed up inside the whole time.”

B shakes his head. “We saw him in town. He stopped in the electronics shop.”

“You saw him?” A’s head pokes up like a shark’s, cigarette jutting from her lips. “You weren’t spotted, I hope.”

“Of course not,” L says blandly from his perch on a corner chair. “He’s a student at the Cathedral preparatory school. They have a half-term break starting on the 28th, but until then he’ll be in classes until mid-afternoon, presumably.”

“Mm. I bet he ditches a good amount. We’ll have to watch out for that.” Maria flicks her ash through a crack in the window.

“What makes you think he ditches?” L cocks his head, interested in her answer.

“Because he’s a clever little fuck, that’s why. Clever little fucks never think school can teach them anything.”

And with that, she pivots away from the window and waves her cigarette at them pointedly.

* * *

“Is that a dig, Maria?” B breathes in the smell of nicotine, which is still vaguely comforting despite its associations with his mother.

“Actually, I was being self-deprecating. Do I wanna know how old you are?”

“Younger than you. You’re, what eighteen, yeah?”

“Way too old for you, clever fuck,” she smirks a little, and B throws back his head and laughs. _Yeah, but she’s fun to work with at least._

“Not my type. Sorry about that kiss, by the way.”

“Could say the same about you,” she smiles and shakes her head, turning her gaze lazily towards, “Just a stupid game, right? I’m guessing you were trying to dig up information on Paul?”

“That’s classified. Can we go get dinner?” A says suddenly and almost sharply. B doesn’t dwell on it too much, already thinking about what might come _after_ dinner, when he and Lawliet get a chance to be truly alone.  

In truth, he’s almost nervous thinking about it. _Almost. Maybe a little excited, too._

They end up ordering room service in Wammy’s room to keep a low profile, though it’s proper fare for a place that features high tea and four-poster beds. _Silver platters and a full three-course._

B discusses the tricks of the trade with Maria over a flaky haddock, whereas L and A make plans to case out the electronics store for potential phreaking equipment.

After nibbling at his own fudge cake, stealing bites of Lawliet’s raspberry cheesecake, it’s gotten rather late. _Or at least late enough to have an excuse to head._

“Think I’m gonna go back to my room to draw a bit before turning in. We can talk disguises for casing out the place tomorrow, I’ll try to think something up,” B yawns with an air of the casual, and nods at Lawliet with a neutral smile, “I’ll catch you later, if you’re still gonna work for a bit.”

B is pretty sure, at this point, he won’t be up waiting for long.

* * *

L’s eyes follow B’s departure with the tiniest bit of regret, though he really _should_ talk to A and Maria about the next steps in the case. He and B will have the whole night together, after all. The thought is exciting, but a little daunting, too. Taking a moment to focus on his work can only be good for him.

They make a plan for A and Maria to case out the Scriever house again tomorrow, while B, L, and Wammy will track Mrs Scriever’s movements around town. L expects that much of her time is taken up with obligatory charity work, visiting friends, and shopping.

“Mrs _Scriever_ ,” Maria says, imitating a posh accent. “She’s just Walter’s step mother, you know. I saw Dread Savant say on the Skyline forum that his real mum died of cancer when he was five.”

“Is that so?” L feels the slightest chill wash over him. Saskia died when he was five, too – though it was respiratory disease, not cancer.

“The poor clever fuck.” A rolls her eyes delicately. “The father would rather be in London making money, and the Mum and baby brother he’s stuck with aren’t his _real_ family. No wonder he turned to crime. Must not have had the imagination for much else.”

Maria casts a brittle gaze on A for that, stubbing out her cigarette and rising with an aloof sort of dignity. “I’m going to go read in the bath.” Her smile is a thin line. “Sartre, if you were wondering.”

“Brilliant,” A deadpans as soon as she’s out the door. “A thief who’s a literary snob. I liked her better when she was a _Star Wars_ geek.”

L smirks a little. “You’ve never liked her.”

“True enough.” A confirms it with a grin, though it quickly wavers. “Um…” Her eyes slide toward Wammy, who’s thoroughly absorbed in one of the books he purchased in town. “Can we go for a walk? I wanted to talk about something.”

L nods in agreement, bidding Wammy goodnight before stepping out into the hallway and following A through a side-exit. The hotel’s tidy, green grounds are dark and silent under the barely-there sliver of moon, and beside him A is little more than a shadow, her face featureless as they head for a dimly-lit fountain.

“Look at that.” A peers into the rippling water, scanning the pennies strewn along the bottom. “A lot of wasted wishes. Maybe Maria can collect them all.”

“Is that what you wanted to talk about? Maria?”  

A sits on the fountain’s concrete lip and crosses her arms across her chest, as if chilled. “I don’t want to share a room with her. She’s not _terrible_ but she’s still a stranger. Let me stay with you and B tonight?”

L chews on the end of his thumb, studying the way her foot is bouncing up and down. He could make an excuse – _we only have the one bed, A_ – but that only gives her something to wheedle away at, thinking that the matter is up for debate when it’s actually not.

“Sorry, but I’m not going to do that.”

Even in the dim light, L can see her features instantly darken. “Why? So you two can be alone to play pansy all night?” He doesn’t respond, instead slouching over slightly and slipping his free hand into his pocket. It doesn’t take long for her to break the silence. “Do you know what it feels like, to see the two of you?” Her voice shakes a little, emotion desperately held back – L doesn’t think it’s an act.

“I never knew what it was like to be lonely until I came to Wammy’s House and saw you two, and I’ve been lonely ever since.” She fists her hands at her side and sucks in a deep breath. “Hear that? _You two, you two_. I’m like a parrot. But it’s only ever gonna be _you two_ , isn’t it?”

“I think of us as a trio.” L takes a step closer. “That’s why you’re here with us, isn’t?” He tilts his head down and traces a pattern in the dirt with the toe of his shoe. “But I suppose B has a special place that no one else does…I’m sorry that it upsets you.” He means it – he _is_ sorry.

She only sighs, her shoulders still stiff with frustration.

“I don’t think we’ll always be a trio,” he says, and A looks up sharply. “You’re too ambitious and too much of a leader to play second fiddle forever.”

“Third fiddle.” The correction is sharp, though her shoulders do relax a tad. “You really see me making a name for myself, then?”

He nods. It’s a convenient way to soothe her ego right now, and it doesn’t hurt that it’s actually true. B is perfect at playing the partner role, but A clearly finds the role chafing, even at times insulting.

“Thanks, I guess.”

He shrugs. “No need for thanks. It’s true.”

She hums in thought, flicking her fingers through the water. “Well, as to sleeping arrangements – I suppose it doesn’t do any good to beg. You’re merciless.”

He laughs a little at that, though when she stands up her expression is deadly serious. “I mean it. Thing is, I’m pretty sure you don’t even realize it.”

She watches him for a few beats, clearly expecting a response, but he doesn’t give an inch, simply blinking back at her in turn. Finally, she shakes her head and walks away, leaving him alone with the quiet, soothing murmur of the fountain.

_I suppose we both managed to make our respective points, then._

* * *

True to his word, B does dig out his sketchbook as soon as he’s shut the door to their room, kicking up his legs on the luxurious duvet  of the four-poster bed and pulling out a charcoal pencil. B draws about events, memories that he wants to remember– _and yeah, there are things that I want to remember about these past few days._

Cheeks warm and chest swelling with something gentle and implacable, he decides on Lawliet’s kiss on the bed of a few days prior. His hands shake a little as he puts the first few dark strokes of their bodes on to the page.

_It’s alright. It happened. And it’s gonna happen again._

It feels bold, shaping out his own form beside Lawliet. _But so real._ B has imagined such a pose countless times before, and drawn Lawliet alone, but always hesitated to give his desperate hope shape on the page. The image calms something needy within him. It’s a record.

_Can We Keep This? [do not edit or repost]_

When he annotates it, questions come to him faster than he thought they might. _We haven’t really talked about…anything specific yet._   _Apart from maybe boat rides._ _That’s fine, isn’t it?_

 _But where is he?_ B scribbles down further questions, mind running a mile-a-minute, then digs his fingers into the duvet cover to remind himself that he ought to be calm, all things considered. _Today was good._

_But what are we now?_

He snaps the book shut a little too quickly when the door opens, then tries to relax under Lawliet’s questioning gaze.

“Hey uh. Hi,” he smiles easily when Lawliet takes a seat next to him on the bed, then after a moment reaches for his hand, “Anything keep you?”

* * *

The conversation next to the fountain is still ringing in L’s ears, A’s words, in particular – _you’re_ _merciless…I’m pretty sure you don’t even realize it._

But L _does_ realize it. In particular, he realizes that A is the most merciless of all, though she mostly seems blind to it, preferring to see herself as virtuous. And B is the opposite, not giving himself enough credit for the virtues he _does_ possess, or giving L the credit, instead. No wonder A and B are so frequently at odds.

L glances down at their intertwined fingers, warmth already travelling through his bones. “Spoke with A for a bit. She’s feeling left out, as we expected. Actually…” He lets out a slow breath. “She said she’s felt lonely ever since she met us.”

 _Is that any surprise, though?_ No one has ever mattered to L as much as B has. A suspected as much, and now she knows for sure. _But B…does_ he _know?_

There’s an uncomfortable pause as B shifts slightly, though he only squeezes L’s hand tighter. “Shit. Should we…?”

There’s an echo of leaden guilt in his tone that makes L shake his head hard. “No, I told her that as far as casework is concerned, we’re a trio.” B’s eyes widen, waiting for the rest of it. “But outside of that…” he gulps a little, his face heating up unexpectedly. He was able to lay it out so matter-of-factually to A, but now that B is sitting next to him, their fingers threaded together, the words feel huge and squeezed up inside his throat. “Yeah. You’re special in a way that she’s not. And I told her that.”

* * *

 

The knot of guilt tugging at him dissipates under Lawliet’s gaze, thoughts of A suddenly distant and cloudy.  It’s as if some kind of dam has broken inside him, the words rushing out after so many months of bitten tongues and stolen glances.

“You’re special to me in _every_ way, Lawliet, and you’ve always been that way. I mean, yeah, I wanna kiss you. And other things. But you’re important to me, you’re my best friend. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

 _That’s why I didn’t tell you_. B thinks, then realizes he should perhaps voice that too, before the moment passes. Lawliet squeezes his hand tightly, drawing him closer. Speechless, for the moment, but his eyes never leave B’s.

 _You have to tell him._ His heart might be beating faster, but the warmth of Lawliet’s shoulder against his, the comforting and familiar sweetness of his skin gives him the strength to finish what he means to say.

“I think I’ve been in love with you for six months now. Maybe longer. These past few months, it’s been driving me crazy not telling you, being around you and feeling like I’m fucking crazy for wanting to touch you so badly. Sorry how you found out, by the way,” B meets his eyes almost bashfully, “But not…that sorry. I’m glad, now.”

* * *

 

L feels slightly dazed by the sheer, earnest power of B’s outpouring, but it’s a mostly pleasant sort of daze. _Sixth months, really?_ L cringes in a flash of sheepish guilt – he hadn’t been driven crazy by B up until a few weeks ago, and even then it was the sort of crazy underpinned by sexual curiosity more than anything resembling ‘love.’

_Do I love him? Is that what this is?_

The question makes him quietly shut down for a moment, chewing roughly on the end of his finger while still keeping his other arm around B, stroking the notches of his shoulder blades. “I’m glad now, too,” He finally says, voice husky. He knows this much for certain. “Um, I probably should have noticed sooner.”

B’s head tilts up, smile is as genuine as L has ever seen it. “S'okay, I wouldn’t have know what to do even if you did. I mean…what would you have done if you had noticed?” With that, the smile transforms into something closer to a wicked grin.

L laughs quietly through his nose, aware of how warm his face is – his whole body, really. “Guess I’d do what I’ve been doing these last few weeks. Watching you –” B turns fiercely red at that “–trying to figure out what it all means…” L laughs again. “Might’ve been easier to ask.”

B tugs L’s hand away from his mouth, thumb circling his pulse. “Yeah, but we haven’t had much time to ourselves, either.”

“I missed you when you stopped coming to my room,” L admits. “I didn’t know what I was feeling, really, but I did worry that you and A might start up something. I thought I was worried because of what it would do to our investigations, but it’s more likely I was jealous.”

* * *

 

“Is that what the evidence points to, now?” B grins even wider, feeling giddy and light, and laughs a little when Lawliet knocks him gently with his shoulder. _Kinda nice to know that now, though._

_That he wants me to belong to him._

The air room feels soft, gentle to breathe in and sweet with warmth. He takes a moment to study the delicate bones of Lawliet’s hands, coming to circle the sharp bone at the nub of his wrist. Thinking about the past few days.

_A wasn’t the only one Lawliet was jealous of._

“Yeah, I did notice you were acting kinda weird after what happened with Paul,” the memory of the experience seems distantly unpleasant now, tucked up with Lawliet’s arm around him. _Almost like it happened to someone else._

_Which, I guess, in some ways, it did._

“I guess A knew you’d be jealous of that too,” _which she used to her advantage. But it didn’t work._ He turns his head up to study Lawliet’s eyes and lips, the way his brow furrows with concern. _But is he still okay with it?_

“Maybe I should have noticed that….known what it meant, I mean,” _Didn’t know what to think, at the time._ The tiniest wave of unpleasantness crawls over him, but it’s easy to squeeze Lawliet’s fingers, look in his eyes, and forget about it, “But you’re…okay? I mean I did it for the case, you know that, right? It didn’t mean shit.”

* * *

 

“I know it was for the case,” L says quickly, eager to reassure B. He can’t deny, though, that the thought of B touching Paul intimately makes him a little sick to his stomach – mostly because it appears to have worked so _well_ . Which means that it's a tactic they might have to use again. L doesn’t want B to have to do that – _no, not if I can help it_ – and a protective urge fires up inside him so suddenly that he squeezes B as hard as he can before rolling him over onto the bed, pushing his hand flat against B’s thin chest.

“I want to make you forget about him.” His voice is deadly serious even to his own ears – no wonder B’s eyes go wide. “If that’s alright….” he adds, a little shaken by his own intensity.

“Yeah, I want that, too.” B brings L’s fingers to the hem of his tee-shirt, barely needing any help to squirm out of it. L pulls his own off, too, tossing it to one side, his jeans already that mix of uncomfortably-yet-pleasantly snug.

It’s different than what happened this morning, when their hands explored sleepily, with no expectations or real goal in mind. But now they’ve talked and laid everything bare. The bedside lamp is blazing and L is wide awake and his fingers are tracing the space between B’s ribs, noticing things he’s never noticed before. Like the tiny mole beneath his left collarbone, and the thin but dark trail of hair that travels down from his navel. His nipples are a very light pink, and imagining the various ways that he might darken them makes L want to die a little – of happiness or horniness, he’s not sure. But aside from touching his thumb to the tiny mole, he can’t seem to move in any way that might make these visualizations come to life.

“Uh.” L scratches at the back of his neck and has trouble meeting B’s eyes. “I only started wanking off like a week ago –” Even from the corner of his gaze, he sees B flinch in surprise “–I mean, I _tried_ before, but not much happened. So yeah, I don’t actually know what I’m doing, just so you know.” He let’s out a gust of breath, hoping that he hasn’t just ruined the moment.

* * *

 

“S’okay, I… know about doing it myself, but with someone–” his voice dies off a little, meeting Lawliet’s eyes, running a hand along the soft skin overtop of his shoulder blade.

 _I mean I don’t really know how to do it and have it_ mean _anything_.

Lawliet’s skin stretched above him like a blank page he wants to carve out so many images on that he barely knows where to make the first mark. He slides his hand along the side of Lawliet’s chest, coming to rest on his hipbone, “Kiss me, to start?”

The question comes out almost tentative, but Lawliet nods emphatically, leaning down to let his mouth close over B’s. The weight of Lawliet on top of him feels certain and enveloping, like the wide-open sanctuary of the forest, but safer, with an overwhelming _warmth_.

There’s more intention in his kiss than their fevered exploration in the bushes, but less urgency. _It’s okay. We’re safe here, we’ve got time_. Though the tightness in his skinny jeans is insistent, especially tucked against Lawliet’s clear hard-on, B is determined to savour this moment.

_Make it count. Make it so that he can’t forget about you._

B combs a hand through Lawliet’s sweet-smelling hair, and breaks off for a breath, then curiously leans in to nibble at Lawliet’s earlobe, sucking at the tip of it experimentally.

“Does that…feel good?”

“Yeah–” Lawliet exhales through breath that’s already a little hitched.

 _Guess there was a reason Elsa did that to Indy,_ B manages to think, before Lawliet’s lips and tongue on his own neck short-circuit any coherent thoughts to his brain.

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long for intuition to take over. L has been able to read B’s emotions and body language for years now, and this is just a level above that. But what a level it is – like a wondrous new game, moving his lips and tongue across B’s throat and collarbones just to see which will make him gasp more, his hips jerking up involuntarily.

_‘This?’_

_‘Here?’_

The words and questions are barely-there whispers, with B gently moving L’s right hand lower, so that his fingers are grazing through the faint trail of hair at his navel, then sliding over the button of his jeans. “Okay?” L lifts his head enough to look B in the eye, and, seeing nothing but trust and eagerness there, moves his hand even further, cupping the bulge between his legs.

“Definitely okay,” B breathes out, shimmying a little bit beneath him, fingers scrabbling against L’s waistband. Their knuckles and forearms collide as they simultaneously roll and scoot out of their jeans, the touch of skin-on-skin so warm that it dilutes the shock of contact, makes L melt his hips against B’s in search of more.

“Let me…” He sits up a little manages to slip his hand between their bodies, experimenting with the grip of his hand, his movements clumsy at first, then slow and careful.

“ _Shit._ ” B sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth, and L catches him in a rough kiss on the exhale, both of them rocking against each other, hands roaming and exploring, then finally falling into a deliberate rhythm. Through the white noise in his brain L marvels at how it’s possible that something could feel better than wanking off – but someone doing it for him? Better by miles. Stratospherically better. Especially because it’s B.

Neither of them last long, L the first to shudder against B, gently teething at his shoulder and tugging at his hair. When B comes it’s with a whisper of _Lawliet –_ just like at the river, but this time as a wish giving way to reality.

Awash in the pleasant after-haze, L half rolls off B, his leg still hoisted across his hips. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “Think it’s meant to go on longer than that.” But he can’t really feel let down or disappointed. Not now, when he has exactly what he never knew he wanted.

* * *

 

“I never knew it could be this good,” B murmurs, still dazed and breathless. _God, not even in my fantasies_. His whole body feels shimmery and warm, and he leans over to kiss Lawliet on the lips gently, “ ‘Sides, if we want it to go on longer, we can always do it twenty more times, yeah?”

Lawliet does laugh a little at that, tilting his forehead against B’s before flopping back down on the covers and reaching for the box of tissues, “Maybe after a short nap?”

“Yeah, let’s sleep.” B meets his eyes, chest swelling with affection. After they get cleaned up, B tugs the light chain and pillows his head onto Lawliet’s shoulder, throwing an arm over his ribcage and smiling till his cheeks hurt. He’s just starting to settle in to listening to Lawliet’s slowing heartbeat when a thought occurs to him.

“So you’re telling me…you didn’t figure out how to wank off till you saw me doing it?” B knows he’s smirking now, and Lawliet gives him a slight pout through sleepy eyelids.

“I knew how it worked, I just never had proper inspiration to finish.”

“I do kinda have you to thank for that, too,” B admits, and Lawliet’s pout morphs into a smirk there.

“Yeah, I’d guessed that.”

“Well, I don’t think either of us are gonna have to worry about needing inspiration anymore,” B smiles, but stifles a yawn, his eyes feeling weighted, but not wanting to close on the perfect picture of an exhausted Lawliet, smiling softly with his eyes closed, “Sleep well, Lawliet.”

 _Love you,_ he thinks without saying it aloud.

“Sleep well, B,” Lawliet turns his head to mumble, and the kiss Lawliet presses reverently to his forehead says it all, really.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah honestly so many giddy feels rereading this chapter. They will never be more pure and good than this <3 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, and of course, we would love a comment <3


	8. May 25, 1993

**May 25, 1993**

It takes them two full days to case out the Scriever Estate. While Maria and A are on stakeout, L makes a variety of polite inquiries around town via telephone, finding that much like the residents of Winchester, Salisbury folk virtually leap at the chance to pass along gossip. Posing as a society columnist for posh, London-based magazine, L discovers which local charities and boards Mrs Scriever sits on and compiles a rough outline of her weekly schedule. Maria and A, meanwhile, learn that the Scrievers employ a gardener on Sundays, and that the housekeeper/cook comes on the weekdays. It’s during one of the blocs of time when the housekeeper is the only one home that A and Maria show up at the door with their religious pamphlets.

But not before getting into deep disguise, first. For A this means dying her hair a fiery red colour – not the most discreet thing in the world, but a definite change from how she appeared at DEFF Con. Maria opts for a colour she calls ‘country mouse brown’ – a more appropriate choice for someone who’s meant to be a church fanatic.

They eat dinner together both nights, and there are a few times that Maria’s laugh seems genuine enough to make L wonder if she doesn’t really mind this so much. She has dozens and dozens of fake ‘friends,’ people who connect her to the targets she steals from – but who else has she been able to be herself around? Only Joey, who she doesn’t even like.

So when Maria lays out her overview of the Scriever’s security system, L listens carefully and takes notes, knowing that he has a lot to learn from someone with her skills.

“Your basic deadbolt is useless against someone who knows what they’re doing. The brand on their house is a mid-range one. A couple minutes with a bump key ought to do it.” She blows smoke over L’s shoulder, watching his tight handwriting scratch across the page. “Alarm system runs through the phone lines. Don’t wanna cut them to announce that someone’s been there, but I’m pretty sure I can jam it.”

“ _Pretty_ sure?” L flicks his eyes up at her.

She grins and lifts an eyebrow. “It’s not any fun if it’s _easy_ , Luke. You’ll learn that when you start chasing girls, eh?”

L’s face manages to betray no reaction, but he hears someone shift on the bed behind him. It’s A, who grabs her jacket and zips it up slowly. “I’ve already heard this part of Maria’s plan,” she says, her voice almost forcefully calm. “Think I’ll see if I can get some more bottles of coke from the lobby.”

B, previously sprawled out on the bed, sits up when the door slams behind her, curiosity etched on his face.

“If that girl’s high horse were any higher, she’d have to scream for us to hear her.” Maria sounds more amused than annoyed.

* * *

“Yeah, she can be a…bit of a head case,” B nods to Maria, a pang of guilt striking in the pit of his stomach.

“Well, there’s not much you can do about some people, I just can’t be arsed to play their games,” she takes another drag, giving a wry look to the smoke as it blows against her breath.

“Good advice,” Lawliet says softly, and though he doesn’t look at B, the words feel like they’re meant for him.

 _I should talk to her._ He hasn’t apologized for what was said at the breakfast table, and neither has she… _but she hasn’t said anything shitty to me in the last few days, either._

_Hasn’t said much of anything at all._

“I think…I’ll go see about getting a coke too. Or maybe a root beer,” he looks to Lawliet for permission, who nods slowly.

“I’ll catch you up when you get back, if need be Don’t be too long.”

“Thanks, Luke,” his tongue trips a little over the fake name– it almost feels like being among friends at this point, with Maria, Merrie, or whatever name she prefers to go by. _Who knows if we can get used to that._

 _Still. She’s a good ally to have. And of course, A is too._ With that thought churning in his stomach, he tugs the hotel room door shut and starts off towards the lobby.

* * *

 

With B and A gone, Maria pulls her chair closer to the hotel desk and gestures toward L’s shut laptop. “How’s Quarter Queen doing?”

“Ill with the flu, and grounded for sneaking out of the house to visit Zaphod in Crystal Palace.” Getting a dial-up connection at the hotel hasn’t been possible, but at least they managed to explain away Queen/Brianne’s absence before coming to Salisbury. Even so, L supposes that Paul might feel a bit neglected by the girl of his dreams.

“Let me see if I’ve got it right.” Maria scrapes a fleck of nail polish off her thumb, glancing up at him. “You make Paul think that some girl likes him – who isn’t even a girl, mind – then never speak to him again once you’ve got what you want.”

L widens his eyes slightly, mostly for effect. “You’ve got it right. What of it?” There isn’t judgment in her tone, really, but he wonders if that’s where this is headed.

“Nothing, actually.” She gives him a nod as the snap of her lighter casts a glow over them. “I’m not the type to think beyond that and it seems like you’re not, either. It might mean that we can work together, after all.”

“It might,” L agrees, mirroring her nod.

She blows smoke at the ceiling and tips back in her chair, looking more relaxed than L has seen her of late. “It’s clear to me now that you three aren’t cousins, by the way. Did those two make the mistake of trying to steal from you, as well?”

 _Is she trying to… get to know me?_ L decides that it’s in his best interest to keep his guard up, but figures he can show a card or two. “I suppose they both had their own unique ways of getting my attention.” He unwraps a toffee and pops it into his mouth, the sweet caramel flavor melting on his tongue and putting him more at ease. It feels wrong to talk about B and A as if they’re mere hired hands, but L senses that stark practicality appeals to someone like Maria.

“And the older gentleman? Your ‘uncle?’”

L shrugs a little. “I’m still a minor. Some things you need an adult for. Isn’t that why you had Joey?”

The weight of her gaze is confirmation enough; she’s showing a card or two, as well. It’s the first time that L has ever spent time with someone as just _L –_ not Lars Lawliet, not an orphan, not some kid. With Maria, he’s a detective and nothing more.

It feels different. It feels good.

* * *

B catches sight of A’s shadow just outside of the lobby in the dimming evening light, the smoke from a lit cigarette clouding around her. _God, at this rate she’ll be just like Maria._ He braces himself before approaching, wearing an appropriately neutral expression.

“Got a spare?”

“Didn’t know you smoked, Backup,”

“Figure I should at least pick up the mannerisms. Reminds me a little bit of Brooklyn,” he holds the cigarette out for her to light as she raises an eyebrow. It tastes like something B could get used to– dirty, scorching his throat a tiny bit. The gust outwards relaxes him, prepares him for the conversation ahead, “So did you get these from Maria?”

“Come to rub in it my face, did you?” she takes another drag without looking at him. _Great, so this is how this conversation is going to go._

“I came to see if you were okay,” he can tell she’s trying to upset him, now. He sips at the cigarette tentatively, thinking about Lawliet to keep his emotions in check.

“Define ‘okay’,” she practically spits out the next breath of smoke, “Look, I can do the work I need to for the case.”

“Okay,” B falls silent for a moment, the apology stuck in his throat. _Look, she’s not going to budge an inch if you don’t. And you want things to go back to normal_ , “Sorry about what I said at breakfast. Didn’t really mean it, I was just…it’s not great, having to do that with Paul. And if you wanna do it next time, by all means. Be my guest.”

“It’s fine,” she stares off across the rich garden landscaping towards the city, “I’m fine I just… Maria creeps me out, B.”

_Maria? That’s what she’s hung up about?_

“Did something happen?”

“I keep being afraid she’ll hit on me. I just _know_ she’s a dyke, Backup, I can tell.”

B stares at her, momentarily flummoxed, “Couldn’t you just…turn her down? I mean, for what it’s worth I don’t think she likes you very much.”

“She looks so predatory! She’s so much older than us! And she sleeps in her underwear!” A seems a little flushed, keeping her voice to a hiss. B isn’t exactly sure how to parse this information.

“Don’t…you sleep in your underwear sometimes?”

“Not with other people, Backup! Especially not with strangers. Of course I can’t expect you to understand,” she chews her painted lip, “But I could say she doesn’t keep her hands to herself.”

“Wait, you’re saying she tried to grab you?” a sick worry starts to churn in his stomach. _After what the DARQs did to her…she doesn’t deserve that. Why the hell would Maria do that?_

“Well, not exactly like that–”

“We have to tell Luke, then–” _Lawliet will tell her off, he’s got her on a tight leash._

“No, don’t! It’s fine. I can handle myself, like you said. It’s not like I couldn’t break her finger if she tries anything, right?” A laughs nervously, flipping her hair back. She looks away for a moment, then meets B’s eyes with a steely glare, “Besides, Luke is right. We need her for the case. That’s it.”

“Ace…if you’re scared because of what happened with the DARQs–”

“I’m not _scared_ , Backup,” at this point her voice is high and a little too loud for polite conversation.

_Alright then._

“Just…let me know if you want me to talk to Maria, or Luke.”

“Don’t say anything to them, okay?” she gives him an intense look.

“Okay.”

“Besides, do you even get to _talking_ , with him anymore?” A’s face rearranges itself into a smirk, seeming happy to change the subject.

“Oh, hah, hah.”

“Happy for you, I guess. You two…I mean, of fucking course you would be. Just don’t let it get in the way,” she stubs out her cigarette, back even straighter than usual. B sighs internally, searching for the right words.

“It’s not gonna change anything, Ace. You’re still the worst person I know. But you’re also my friend,” he nods at her, and her gaze softens a little, taking his hand with her sharp nails and squeezing it, “ ‘sides, I don’t think his talents for disguise are going to get any better, right? So the field work will still be us, I figure.”

“No doubt,” A tugs at his hand, seeming grateful and distant at once, “Come on, then. Let’s get the Cokes I promised.”

* * *

 

L opens the windows even wider once Maria leaves, determined to air out some of the lingering smoke, though he expects it’s a lost cause, now. He peers out on long gravel driveway in front of the hotel and sees A and B’s familiar shapes lingering out front. They’re too far away for him to hear a word, but he hopes that they’re not arguing, at least.

It takes B almost another ten minutes before he returns with two bottles of coke in hand, still cold and dewy from the machine.

“Maria’s gone?” He looks at her empty chair before crawling onto the bed next to L.

“Yeah.” L gives him a wry smile, taking the offered soda bottle. “I think she had more Sartre to read.” He takes a few small drinks before setting the soda aside. “You were gone for a bit, too. Everything alright?”

B nods, his hand rubbing L’s knee rather absently. “Think we’re okay. Me and A, that is. You sure Maria’s okay to trust? I mean, I think so, but A keeps acting worried about her.” He takes a furtive sip from his own soda, as if to keep himself from saying more.

L rolls his eyes toward the ceiling and flops back against the pillows. “If A would stop and think, perhaps she’d realize that I’ve never once said that I ‘trust’ Maria. I’m giving Maria an opportunity to see if she _can_ be trusted. Quite a big difference.” He pauses, checking in to see if his internal gauge on the matter has budged at all. It hasn’t. “We didn’t get this far by not taking risks. A knows that herself, so I suspect that this is more effort to spin our attentions in her direction. And look–” he gives B a teasing grin “–it worked. She’s got you concerned now.” 

* * *

 

“You’re probably right,” B curls down to the surface of the bed, taking hold of Lawliet’s freezing toes with a slight hiss,  “You sure she’s not just on edge because of what happened with the DARQs?”

“The DARQ’s whose fingers she broke?” L hums gently as B starts to massage color back into his toes, “In any case, it’s not as if Maria has anything to do with that. I’d stake ninety-seven percent certainty on that.”

“I told her I thought she could handle herself,” B runs his finger along Lawliet’s instep, fascinated by the delicate bones of his toes. _I’ll have to draw them later_ . After a moment of revelling in the feeling of warmth starting to flow back into Lawliet’s heel, B’s thoughts start to wander to the case so far, and surprisingly, back to Paul. Which is a less painful thought now. _Thanks to him._

B imagines the structure of command is somewhat like how Lawliet keeps he and A together, giving them work that suits their unique talents, and challenges them. He smiles sidelong at Lawliet’s name and date, still and sure in red above his forehead. _Maria, too. Wonder if Walter does the same with the hackers._

“Do you ever think the Lulz could be a little like us?”

* * *

 

L tilts his head back, sinking deeper into the pillows as B’s fingers massage his feet and toes. Interesting how in such a short amount of time he’s grown used to being touched almost everywhere, and touching back, in turn. _It only could’ve happened with B, though._

“Like us?” The words are thickened by the veil of relaxation that’s dropped over him. “You, me, and A?”

B nods, a curl catching on his brow, his gaze still fixed on L’s knobbly feet.

“Mm, well, I had noticed that Salisbury is a lot like Winchester. Tidy and quiet. Small but not tiny.” He clasps his hands together behind his neck, studying the pattern of the ceiling at he speaks. “And Walter and Paul – they’re both clever, obviously, and not afraid to take risks. But they’re also thieves. We’re not thieves.”

“But we _are_ working with one.” B lifts his eyebrows – it’s just a fact, not an accusation.

“Sure,” L says easily, quite comfortable with the grey area Maria represents. Like A, she has skills that can be put to use in ways that are more beneficial to society than harmful. “And Paul is convinced that the type of thieving he does is more a good deed than a bad one. Who knows why. Maybe he thinks banks are corporations that need to be punished?” The ceiling tiles seem to fuzz a little, lose their focus. “He probably enjoys the power that comes with it more than he’s willing to admit.”

L half sits up then, palms pressed into the mattress, his expression curious. “Why do you ask, anyway?” Maria’s words replay in his head: _‘never speak to him again once you’ve got what you want…’_ “Is it because of how we set a trap for Paul?”

* * *

 

B ceases working on Lawliet’s feet, which are mainly warm by now anyways, “Nah, not really that.”

He shuffles upwards, tucking his head on Lawliet’s shoulder. Lawliet seems to know to wait, let him think about it. _I mean…a little, but I don’t think what we did was really that bad, if it helps us catch him._ B doesn’t have a ton of sympathy, given Paul’s approach to ‘Brianne’. _Better that he didn’t try that with anyone who it meant something to._

“I was thinking more about what Walter might be like, you know? He’s got Paul on his side with a ton of loyalty, and Stevie too. And yeah, wondering like you why Paul is so convinced they’re on the right side.”

“Either Walter is very convincing, or there’s some truth to that. Hopefully we’ll find out more when we get inside the estate.“

“Yeah,” B is too distracted by the proximity of Lawliet’s lips to give that much thought, and he leans in slowly to steal a kiss, drawing back when Lawliet makes a small noise of discomfort and wrinkles his nose, “Too much?”

“No– you taste like…cigarettes,” Lawliet looks a tiny bit scandalized, which makes B laugh.

“Sorry, sorry– decided to give it a shot with A. Figured it might be useful if I can fake it.”

“Don’t become like Maria,” Lawliet reaches into the drawer for a bag of boiled candies, a few of which he passes to B to crunch on.

“Yeah, well, A’s already most of the way there. Glad it wasn’t your first kiss though.”

“Me too,” he smiles and squeezes B’s hand, which sparks a bit of a realization in B, even as his head droops back into the softness of the pillows.

“I guess the other thing about the Lulz being like us…it makes me wonder where I might have ended up if you hadn’t found me. Who else would have,” he tucks his head next to Lawliet’s, speaking to no one, now, but still dimly aware of the name and numbers above Lawliet’s head, the flicker of his red eyes in the mirror,  “The things I’m good at– they’re not good things. But I’m glad I can use them for something that’s good, y’know?”

* * *

 

L nudges him with his shoulder a little. “You’re good at lots of ‘good’ things.”

“What, like torture and seducing people?” B pulls away slightly, his eyes glancing at the space just overhead, where L supposes his own death date must be. He still doesn’t know when it is, only that it’s far enough away to be of some kind of comfort.. “What else? Fighting and knowing when people are gonna die.” He doesn’t sound self-pitying, merely matter-of-fact.

“You’re good at more than just those things,” L says quietly, lacing their fingers together. _Maybe it was you who found me, ever think of that?_ The thought makes his chest go tight and a little fearful, so he pushes it away, even while squeezing B’s hand harder. “You rejected the idea of joining Hoodwave. Remember them? Gang scum, you called them. But I suppose if you hadn’t stowed away to England you might’ve ended up in some kind of children’s home, for a while. Until someone kind and thoughtful whisked you out of there and took you off to a new life…”

He trails off as he realizes that it isn’t B’s past he’s talking about, but _his own_. Thirteen months in the care home after Saskia’s death. It wasn’t so bad until they got upset about his wanderings and started locking him in his room, then taking away his books, saying they were too ‘grown up.’ He used to speak in nothing but Dutch just to drive them mad, but mostly, he was desperately bored. But then Wammy showed up.

_What if he hadn’t?_

L isn’t at all the type to fall for claptrap proverbs, and “everything happens for a reason” might be the worst of them – but every once and a while, it almost makes sense.

“Anyway,” he sighs, feeling soft under the weight of it all. “I found you first. Finders, keepers.”

* * *

 

 _Might have ended up in jail, more like._ B doesn’t often think about his life before Wammy’s, it having mainly faded to an ugly blur that only surfaces when the ghosts haunt his days or nights.

“Yeah well, keep me out of trouble, right?” B burrows under the covers, too pleasantly comfortable to contemplate anything more than sleeping right now.

“As much as I can. Though I do realize that trouble comes hand in hand with the casework,” Lawliet nibbles at his finger a little distantly, sending a slight flicker of concern through B.

“S’good. I know what I’m getting into,” he squeezes Lawliet’s hand tightly back, “You ready to sleep now?”

 _We’ll have lots to sort through about the case in the morning. Well, maybe after we wake up together_. B settles in, a smile playing on his lips despite his drooping eyelids.

“Yeah, I think so,” Lawliet tugs the covers over himself, leans down to give him a thorough kiss, licking his lips when he pulls away.

“Better?”

“Much,”Lawliet pulls the light-chain and settles into the bed, nestled next to B. Even in the darkness he can feel the soft rising of the edges of Lawliet’s cheeks, matching the smile of the crescent moon glowing in the window.

* * *

 

**May 27, 1993**

Thursday provides them with the best opportunity to break into the Scriever Estate. A school day for Walter and little brother Teddy, while mother Julia is one of the organizers for a charity luncheon and auction being held in town. The housekeeper leaves just after eleven, steering a white van down the driveway for an afternoon of shopping and errands. From the thatch of shrubbery where Wammy has parked the lookout/getaway car, Maria pulls on leather gloves and hitches a slim pack of tools over her shoulder, chomping gum vigorously.

“The other day I noticed it smelled like lilac and vanilla in there,” she says, nodding at the house’s rooftop, barely visible over the treeline. “Don’t want to leave any noticeable scents behind.”

A nods reluctantly and tosses her pack of cigarettes to B. “Try to save some for me, yeah?” She slides out of the car’s back seat and shuts the door behind her, following Maria through the trees and toward the house. Aside from the leather gloves, they look like they could be out for a hike, dressed in ordinary jeans and tee-shirts, sunlight glinting in their hair.

B fiddles with the packet of cigarettes, but L’s attention is on the curve of the driveway. Any sign of a car and he’ll ring the mobile phone that A is carrying, giving them enough time, hopefully, to hide or escape.

After twenty minutes or so he starts to relax. They’ve probably bumped the locks and jammed the alarm system by now, so it’s just a matter of finding some form of critical evidence in Walter’s room. L only hopes that he’s a little more careless in real life than he is as Dread Savant. Another half-hour of near silence passes before L catches a glimpse of A’s newly-red hair through the foliage.

“Here they come.” He scrabbles for B’s hand and gives it a squeeze. Wammy turns on the engine and shifts the car into gear, hitting the pedal as soon as both A and Maria have tumbled back into the car.

* * *

 

“So, how did it go?”

“Tight,” Maria slides her pack of cigarettes out from the glove compartment, nodding respectfully to Wammy, “And simple. In this little town, apparently thieves aren’t expected during the day. The door was unlocked.”

“Don’t be getting any ideas,” A snipes, but seems in a good mood, knocking her knee against B’s, “Took us a bit to get into Walter’s room, though. Lots of evidence in there– the easy material was the dial tone boxes, and all the tech. But that’s circumstantial at best, if we want to nail these fuckers, we’re going to need more than that.”

Maria coughs distastefully, fumbling with the cigarette and leaning away from them so that her face is shaded. _She seems happy with the front seat, at least_.

“Got enough photographs of receipts of various amounts to provide evidence he’s at least been getting a lot of money from somewhere, though a court could claim it was his Daddy,” Maria hunches over a little, voice even but distant,  “Apparently young Walter has been making a lot of very generous charitable donations to cancer research in the last few months.”

 _So there’s what Paul was so obsessed with._ Walter hadn’t exactly come across as _nice_ at the convention, _but yeah, maybe there are other reasons rich kids decide to rob banks. Sort of._ B presses his leg a little closer to Lawliet’s, thinking about their conversation last night.

_I mean, is what I do really any better?_

“He’s got a whole bulletin _board_ dedicated to Mommy’s memory, wants to make her proud by becoming a thief, I’d wager,” A smirks a little knowingly, “Making sure she didn’t die in vain. How _noble_.”

“Did you get a picture of that too?” B asks, a little jarred by A’s sarcasm.

“Of course, it’s evidence too. You’ve still got my cigarettes?” she slips her hand in B’s pocket without permission, “Thanks, _Brian_.”

“Were there any hiccups?” Lawliet turns questioningly to A, then Maria with wide eyes.

“The wall safe was a mite bit harder than what I expected,” Maria takes a long drag of the cigarette, “Still managed it though. Good fun.”

“That’s excellent,” Lawliet nibbles at his fingertip, going quiet for a moment while he turns his gaze out the window.

“I bet I know what you’re thinking,” A rummages in her small purse and produces a set of two unlabelled floppies, “That alone isn’t enough to stand up in court. That’s why I nabbed these from the safe. You can bet they’re going to have something he didn’t want us to see.”

* * *

 

L’s eyes linger on the floppies a little too long, causing A to jump into further explanation. “Don’t worry, I scrambled a few blank ones and put them back in. If Walter somehow notices before we’ve turned him over to law enforcement, he’ll probably assume that they were de-magnetized by the safe.”

After thinking it over for a moment, L nods, deciding that he probably would have handled the evidence in a similar fashion. By then they’re pulling up the hotel’s gravel driveway, the sun casting a bright, summery light that L immediately banishes once they’re back inside his hotel room, drawing the curtains tight and putting out the ‘do not disturb’ sign.

“Okay, let’s see what’s on these, shall we?” He opens his laptop and slots in the first floppy, B and A hovering just over his shoulders. Maria, only mildly interested in plunder that she can’t sell, flops down on the bed.

The first floppy is a collection of automated recordings for bank-by-phone, probably obtained directly from the bank Walter’s father works for – Barclays. Incriminating, for certain, but L is more interested in the second floppy, which is fairly well-encrypted, taking them nearly an hour to crack.

“Well, look at that.” B lets out a murmur of interest as numbers begin to light up the screen. “Bank accounts?”

L nods, recognizing some of the numbers from long nights spent with his case files. “A list of the ones that were stolen from. He must have kept records to ensure that he wouldn’t steal from the same account twice.” _An ethical choice, of sorts? Or maybe just a way to keep his tracks covered. Maybe both._

“Perfect!” A snorts in triumph. “A smoking gun. What an absolute idiot.”

“Mmm.” L keeps himself from looking at her, thinking distractedly about the receipts that were found in Walter’s room. All those donations to cancer research.

“Luke?” B’s fingers curl around the edge of his shoulder, reading L’s silence accurately.

“We should have a discussion, I think.” L swirls his chair around, finger and thumb propped between his lips. “Once we get the photographs developed, we will have a good collection of evidence against Walter. If law enforcement goes after him they’re bound to find more – on him, Paul, and the rest of the Lulz.”

A squints, frowns. “So? What’s there to discuss?”

L pinches at his lip. “A second option…we bring the evidence to Walter’s father, instead.”

* * *

B loosens his hand on Lawliet’s shoulder, considering the proposal carefully, “That sounds like it could work. I’d believe the Lulz aren’t really that bad, from what I’ve seen.”

 _At the end of the day– the Lulz seemed a lot more like kids trying to get something right any way they can._ B recalls their conversation last night (and the morning that followed it)  and smiles a little in spite of himself.

A doesn’t smile.

“Maria. Do you think we could have a moment alone,” A doesn’t phrase it as a question.

Maria rolls her eyes heavenward, looking more bored and amused than annoyed, “Whatever suits you.”

A nods, with a quicksilver smile that vanishes as soon as the door closes, “Luke, you can’t just go saving any criminal from the law just because they’re young. How many ‘strays’ are you going to blackmail into being your personal intel?”

“I wasn’t suggesting that Walter join us as a consultant, though having an expert of his calibre would be useful,” Lawliet’s voice has a dangerous evenness to it that sets B on edge, clenching tighter at his shoulder. _She’s going too far this time,_ “But the way he’s been using the funds does indicate more remorse and unaddressed grief than it does hardened criminal intention.”

“And are you a child psychologist?” A barrels on before B can cut her off, “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say his mommy issues are making you soft.”

* * *

The sensation ticking in his throat is just annoyance at first – because L sees A’s point, to a degree. A crime is a crime, regardless of intent, and it’s the job of the courts to determine a criminal’s fate. But instead of bringing up that logical angle, A has gone straight to manipulation, trying to guilt L in order to make her case. _Maria might be a ‘stray,’ but she’s the reason we have evidence on Walter in the first place._

But it isn’t until A accuses him of being soft that something gives way, sending a whole rush of quiet fury to fill his chest, his fingertips tingling from the sudden rush of adrenaline. “Maybe you should try to know better, then.” He sets down the pencil he’s gripping before it snaps, wordlessly shrugging out from beneath B’s touch. He meets A’s eyes as he stands up. “Someone was probably soft on _you_ once, too.” He tries to keep his tone neutral, but it’s no use – there’s venom there. The whiff of a threat, even.

He pushes past both of them and moves for the hotel room’s door, shaking his head wordlessly at B as he quickly opens the door and steps out into the hallway.

The dim lighting and soft carpets underfoot should be calming, but as he roams the corridors the throbbing in his head only seems to intensify. _You let down your guard…_ Between the snarl of thoughts is a profound disgust with himself. He allowed A to get under his skin. Worse, he let it show.

He ends up on one of the rooftop terraces without realizing it, the afternoon gone dark with rain. The cool, misty air is a welcome balm, and he climbs onto a wrought iron bench and lets the drizzle settle over him, the patter of it on the roof and tiled floor rhythmic and soothing.

_That was stupid. Really stupid._

* * *

Lawliet slips through his fingers like the icy water of a stream, leaving him cold and helpless in the wake of the door slam. _Jesus Christ._ B wants to whip around and say something angry at A, _something to hurt her like she deserves,_ but the words stick in his throat. His anger evaporates when he turns back to A’s stricken face, that looks like it’s barely keeping from crumbling.

B suddenly feels the same way.

“Why you gotta be like that all the time, A?” his voice comes out thick, choked up by the sudden swell of emotion in his throat. He doesn’t feel like leaving, either, just sits down heavily on the bed so he doesn’t have to look at her. His face feels hot, the edges of his eyes just starting to burn. He doesn’t move, just turns to look at her, when he feels like he can.

“The fuck are you crying for, Backup?” she doesn’t sound all that put together herself, her movements sharp and shaky as she lights a cigarette.

“I don’t know,” _everything just got all fucked up all of a sudden_. He squeezes his toes tightly in his boots, “I just dunno how to help him.”

_I dunno how to help you, either._

“Toss me a light,” he says after a moment, needing something mindless and dirty to ground him. She sits next to him, at a distance on the bed, dropping a cigarette and the lighter into his outstretched palm. B lights it up, coughing through the taste of it.

_Just when I thought we were done with this shit._

“I just don’t want to feel like I – like we did all this work for nothing,” she says after the air between them is clouded and distant, “And I do think Lars is letting personal feelings get in the way of the case.”

“You think this about his mum, too?” B glances sidelong at her. She nods back fiercely, “You’re probably right about that.”

She seems surprised, waiting for him to say something else. Silent and expectant with the cigarette glowing at her too-young red lips. B doesn’t feel like there’s much else to say.

“Do you think we should hand them over to the police?”

 _I think some days I should hand myself to the police._ He glances sidelong at her sharp gaze, her fingers so quick to snap bone. _Sometimes I think we both deserve to end up there. I mean, what the fuck are we really doing?_

_Can we really call it ‘good’?_

“I don’t know, A. I really don’t. But I’m glad someone didn’t do that for me, once,” B exhales a cloud of smoke, and A coughs _hard_ on the cigarette, hunching over into herself.

“Hey, hey,” B touches her back gently. Her cheeks are dry, but her hands are wrapped around her stomach just as she did that time in the hallway. _Wonder what it is Lawliet took her away from._

_What it was that she did._

“It’s okay. Whatever happened to you, it’s alright. I know who you are now.”

“Right,” she says shakily, stubbing on the cigarette on her ripped striped tights, which makes B wince to see it. She exhales, and tugs her lips up into a wide smile, “Thanks, Backup.”

“Whatever you need, Ace,” he says quietly, letting the last dregs of nicotine fill the silence between them.

* * *

By the time L’s tee-shirt is soaked through, he doesn’t just have regrets about stomping out of the room – he’s also beginning to second-guess his own reasoning. Maybe it is the ‘soft’ option to report Walter’s actions to his banker father, like a student tattling to the teacher. _And you wanted to make a name for yourself as a cyber-crime expert, too…how can you do that if you don’t turn in some cyber-criminals?_  L fervently wishes that the DARQs had been responsible for the bank phreaking, instead. It would have been a pleasure to take down those gas-mask wearing goons.

But as he slips under the shelter of an eave, crouching down on the tiles to stare at his reflection in a puddle, it keeps coming back to him – how even at DEFF Con, Walter kept to himself, preferring the company of his game boy even when surrounded by fellow geeks. His friendship with Paul seemed tentative, too. Walter was simply…always alone.

_But that doesn't mean he’s unhappy. You’ve been alone before, too._

The terrace door clicks open right at that moment, and L is both embarrassed and relieved when B’s face peers around the edge of the door frame.

“Sorry,” L mumbles. “I was about to come back.” Except he wasn’t about to come back, which is precisely why he’s so glad that B’s here now, even as sheepishness still clings to him. He just needs someone to walk with, sometimes.

B winces out of the rain and joins L under the eave, an open, half-empty packet of Haribo twin cherries in hand. “S’okay.” He slings an arm across L’s shoulders, folding him into a hug. “You’re all wet.”

“I guess I am.” L hugs him back, enjoying B’s warmth despite the fact that he smells like cigarette smoke.

“You okay?” B pulls away and hands him the packet of Haribo. L absently slips one of them into his mouth, letting the sweetness spread over his tongue.

“Mmm. Just trying to decide what to do about Walter.”

As if that’s the only reason he came out here. Well, he can pretend if he wants to, can’t he? Who’s going to stop him?

* * *

B squeezes Lawliet’s cold shoulder gently. It’s a rare thing, standing next to Lawliet when he seems just as distantly lost as B feels. _And usually he knows what to do._

 _Well, he did give us an idea._ B does feel like jail time is a harsh fate for Walter, especially after seeing the photographs of the boy’s mother, pinned up next to brochures and letters of thanks on the board A snapped pictures of.

“I dunno what to do either. I don’t really wanna just turn him in though, “ B stares at his shoes, watching the rain spatter towards then, “Not when it turns out they were telling the truth about doing something good.”

“I suppose it’s possible that he made the donations in anticipation that he might one day be caught,” there’s something distant in Lawliet’s frown that still itches of frustration and avoidance, even as his voice remains impassive. _Don’t let A get to you, isn’t that what you told me?_  

“Yeah, but would he make a shrine for his mom and hide it in his closet? Just in case he got caught?” he rubs Lawliet’s shoulder, who stays silent, but nods slowly, “I dunno if his Dad would sort him out, though. But I like the idea of trying it. Guess I’m just not sure we ended up on the right side of this one.”

He takes a Haribo from the bag enjoying the touch of Lawliet’s fingers against his, and hesitating after a beat of tension,  “But you know I’m always on your side, right?”

* * *

“Yes, I know.” The words come out more placid than L actually feels, both his skin and spirit warming now under the crook of B’s arm, but it’s the best he can manage right now. “And thanks… but I _do_ want you to tell me if you ever think I’m wrong. I mean, I think you will anyway, but even so…” he trails off, popping another candy into his mouth.

“Yeah, ‘course I will. When haven’t I?” B’s teeth flash in a grin, his fingertips pressing into the curve of L’s bicep.

L gives another slow nod, his flurried thoughts drifting back to A. _Is she by my side –_ our _side – by choice?_   _Or does she think she never had one in the first place?_

He thinks back to the basement of that group home in Detroit, that hot and muggy Sunday in August of 1991. Anna Frasier had sat on the other side of the chessboard and deployed every mental trick in the book in an attempt to upend L’s patience, to gain the upper hand. And they hadn’t even been playing a game. Not on the chessboard, anyway.

_‘This is just a game isn’t it? There is no hard evidence. Suppose I did kill my father, which I haven’t confessed to at all, how do you think I managed to do it?’_

Maybe the games never even stopped.

“Yeah, and then there’s A. I wish…” He lets out a long breath and B cocks his head, curious and expectant. “It’s just difficult to know if her advice is solid, or if her advice is self-serving. And then suppose there are times where it might be both.” He trails his finger through the puddle, flicking water onto the tiles.

“Maybe she should just take the lead on a case. Go solo. Then she can own her own success, or failure. Whichever one it is.”

* * *

“Maybe,” B stretches his neck slightly, thinking over the way A acted moments before. _She does always seem eager to go off on her own, demand credit for the work she’s done,_ “But she did say she was lonely. How do we know that won’t make that worse?”

“Is anything we’ve done so far done any good, though?” Lawliet states, not with any bitterness. Just like the fact that it is.

“Yeah. Guess it might be time to try different tactics,” B shivers a tiny bit, curiosity tugging at him suddenly. _What was it that Lawliet took her away from? Was she tied up in a case like me?_

 _Did she actually hurt someone?_ B knows that A is more than capable of it. But she directs her brutality with a kind of righteous fury these days, and always is in control of just how far she goes, when to stop to get exactly when they need. _Maybe it wasn’t always that way._

 _But she is who she is now._ B bites his tongue on the question, _and I should let that be._ There are parts of his own past he prefers not to dwell on, after all.

“I think we should go to his Dad about it. Even if it means we lose the credit– I mean I feel for him too, losing his mum like that,” B squeezes Lawliet’s hand, wondering if he’ll say something on the topic, but his lips remain tensely pursed shut. B wants to kiss the tension out of him, but settles for plan instead, “Maybe just…let him know we saw Walter at DEFF, and saw him getting involved with the wrong crowd. We can see how much good that does, and then figure it out from there.”

* * *

“Yeah.” L’s nod is more decisive – finally. “That’s a first step I want to take, too. Before we decide whether to involve law enforcement or not. But I’m not ruling out the police altogether. I’ll make that clear to A and she’ll just have to accept it.”

Because their game really did never stop, he’s certain of it now. While A was busy trying to one-up B on the shooting range and in the books, she was competing against L, too. A different kind of game, one that neither of them would fully acknowledge they were playing, their moves covert and hidden behind the gauze of dishonesty, the skill they were most equally matched at. He glances down at B’s hand, pale fingers tightly clasped in his own. _No wonder she’s been so out of sorts – I ended up with the piece she wanted for herself._

L knows he’s the more deserving, if only because he’s never once thought of B as a piece or a pawn, as something to be won – not until this very moment.

As if to ask forgiveness for that errant though, he twists to one side and presses his mouth to B’s, tasting sweet cherry and the slightest hint of smoke as their tongues mingle together in a long series of kisses. The rain is picking up by now, lashing against the windows and dripping off the eaves at such volume that the nearby puddle grows, soaking their sneakers.

“A’s not still in our room, is she?” L asks when he pulls away, smiling at how B’s hair is curling up from the humidity.

“Nah, made sure she left the same time I did.” B licks his lips and grins, a knowing spark flashing in his eyes.

“Alright.” L inclines his head toward the doors. “I should probably change my clothes then. They’re…” he stifles a laugh “…a bit wet.”

“Yeah, definitely.” B lets himself be pulled up, fingers lingering on L’s wrist.

Their sneakers squish a little on the hotel carpet on the way back, but L hardly notices, trying not to smile to himself as B’s shoulder gently knocks into his own. He likes to win. He likes not just knowing, but _feeling_ that he won. Doubt doesn’t stand a chance against that.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please make our day and leave a comment - no matter how small, we will love you for it!


	9. May 29, 1993

**May 29, 1993**

L finds Wammy not in his room, but in a quiet alcove off the hotel’s restaurant, drinking tea and reading his daily copy of  _ The Guardian _ .

“Just waiting on the others,” L reports, dropping into the chair across from Wammy’s spread. “Maria will stay behind. She’s been both cooperative and useful, but I don’t want to compromise her connection to Walter, just in case we need it to fall back on.”

Wammy lowers the paper enough to peer at L over the top of it. “That sounds wise.”

L lifts an eyebrow. “Does it?” Quillsh Wammy is rather taciturn in general, but L knows him well enough to sense when he’s withholding something. 

Wammy lowers his paper all the way down and offers a slight smile. “Yes. Though I admit that when I spoke I was thinking more of your plan to approach Mr Scriever.“ 

"Oh?” L blinks slightly. Unless there’s significant danger involved, Wammy doesn’t often offer an opinion on L’s casework, having told L many years ago that as an inventor and engineer, he wasn’t inclined to impose limits on anyone’s intellectual pursuits, no matter how young they were. (No surprise, really, that young Quillsh Wammy was kicked out of Eton for certain ‘disruptions’ that he was reluctant to elaborate on). 

“I know how much you want to demonstrate you growing expertise at cyber crime.” Wammy takes a small sip of tea and swallows. “It’s admirable that you’re putting Walter Scriever’s well-being before your own ambitions." 

L chews on the inside of his lip for a moment. "Would you think less of me if I didn’t? Because it wasn’t an easy decision, and I’m quite sure that A, at least, doesn’t fully approve." 

"No, I wouldn’t think less of you.” He neatly folds his paper and lays it in his lap. “There’s much to admire in pure ambition, as well. Your own mother exemplified that.”

Tucking his legs up on the chair, L rests his chin on his knee and watches the pattern of dappled sunlight fall across the table. “So…did you know her well enough to know if she’d be disappointed in me, then?”

A loaded pause. “Disappointed in you for what, Lars?" 

"For caring about something – _ someone _ – other than my own ambitions.” L meets Wammy’s gaze without wavering, pleading with him to read between the lines without L having to spell it out. 

Wammy absently runs a finger beneath his mustache before letting out a slight chuckle. “If your mother was alive, you’d have about as much patience for her opinion as any other teenager has for parental interference – very little, in other words.” He rises from his chair and tucks the paper under his arm. “Say she was disappointed. Would that stop you from caring about this ‘someone’?" 

L curls his palms over his knees, feeling a warmth there that reminds him of B and B only. "No. Definitely not." 

Smiling, Wammy reaches for his hat. "In that case, I think you have all the answer you need. I’ll see you at the car." 

L watches him stroll through the lobby, only rising from his chair when he hears B and A come out of the elevator.

* * *

 

Wammy drives them round to the golf club in town, keeping a sharp eye out for Mr. Scriever’s Lexus as it pulls out of the parking lot shortly after one o’clock.  _ He does his time with the kids and wife, then back to the office _ , B thinks a little ruefully,  _ but hopefully he cares enough about Walter to keep him out of jail _ .

Wammy takes a slow follow in the car, meandering along the right roads to prevent being noticed. B is in the middle for once, with A and L keeping their distance on the edges of the car, L’s thigh pressed warm against his. Any hostility has dissipated to a cool professionalism, and A also hasn’t been overtly nasty to B in the past few days, either.  _ So some kind of peace. _

Before B can dwell on that further, Wammy slows the car a few blocks from the Scriever Estate, “Good luck to all of you.”

“Remember what we agreed on,” A nods with the flash of a smirk, “No evidence, whether he asks or not. We just need a guarantee that little Walter isn’t going to be able to continue stealing thousands of pounds from  _ his  _ customers.”

“He oughta pretend the cancer donations were his idea, that’ll cover the tracks,” B nods along as the knotted English garden in the front landscape comes into view. Lawliet stays quiet as they approach the imposing door framed by decorative columns.

The housekeeper opens the door, regarding them with a measure of disinterest, “Friends of Walter? I’m afraid he’s not in.”

“No, we’re here to speak to his father—it’s quite important,” Lawliet states before she tugs the oak door shut.

“We think Walter may be in trouble,” B adds when the woman’s brow pinches with skepticism.  _ Don’t count us out cause we look like kids.  _ She hesitates, frowning at his accent.

“Very well. Mr. Scriever is very busy, so please be quick about it.”

The “very busy” Mr Scriever dresses in full suit and tie, even on Saturdays. No casual tennis or golf attire for this man, his face Walter’s future but drawn in a harsher hand, shadows dark beneath his eye sockets and cheekbones. 

“Cora says you’re mates of Walter’s?” He stands tall at the entrance to the sitting room where the housekeeper (Cora, apparently) deposited them, with no offer of tea or even a glass of water.

“That’s right,” A says after B and L let the quiet go on a little too long for her liking. “Well, sort of. We met him at DEFF Con in London.” 

Scriever looks blank for a moment, then snaps his fingers. “The computer and video game gathering, that’s right.” His smile is indulgent, but laced with barely-hidden impatience. “I’m sorry to tell you that Walt’s not here right now. Still down at the club with his mum.”

“I thought his mum was dead.” L cranes his head, eyes wide and unblinking, unable to stop himself from taking pleasure in Scriever’s flinch of surprise. This is a man who is used to having control, to being in the loop, and L can tell from the slight wrinkle between B’s brow that B doesn’t like him, either. “That’s the only explanation for what he’s been up to,” L adds, too impatient to lob the bait gracefully.

Scriever’s grin widens to something more like a grimace. “Now then! I don’t know what you mean – Walter’s a good boy. Quiet, keeps to himself. Likes to fiddle about with computers instead of raising a ruckus in the schoolyard.” It doesn’t sound so much like praise as it does regret, as if Scriever wishes Walter were more of a boisterous bully – more like the teenager  _ he’d _ probably been. 

“He’s extremely skilled with computers, yes.” L pushes Luke’s glasses up his nose. “His hacking and phreaking skills have enabled him to commit large-scale fraud against account holders at Barclays, the bank you yourself work for.” 

Scriever’s body stiffens, but his head tilts in puzzlement. “Freaking? I’m afraid I have no idea what that is.” 

“All you need is a computer, a modem, and a blue box. I’m sure if you check your son’s room you’ll find all three.” 

“Walter has a lot of gadgets, yes.” At last, Scriever takes a seat, situating himself on a distant chair. “But these are serious accusations, kids. I’m sure Walter’s just having a bit of fun.” 

L shakes his head slowly, backing off from the direct approach to something less certain. “I just don’t want Walter to get into trouble. Since it’s your own bank he’s stealing from, maybe you could have a chat with him?” 

Scriever draws his head back, turtle-like. “You’re serious?” 

“There’s a lot of hackers at DEFF Con. Walter keeps a very low profile, but one of his associates gossiped to a friend of ours,” A explains, the high flush on her cheeks only adding to her earnest tone. “That’s how we know that Walter has been donating stolen funds to cancer research.”

“Yeah.” B’s voice is soft, uncertain. “So maybe he thought he was doing a good thing, really.” 

Scriever’s mouth pinches together just slightly. “Well, this is all quite the revelation.” His hands claw into the arms of his chair. “Just what do you expect me to do about it, though?” 

L squints at him – remarkably, Scriever’s mouth isn’t pinched in disapproval, but  _ impatience _ . Boredom, even. 

_ Could it be that he doesn’t even care? _

* * *

 

Lawliet handles the interaction with what B has come to expect from the detective L… but that doesn’t stop B from having a strong desire to punch Scriever in his bored, white-toothed frown. 

“I don’t know, maybe tell him to knock it off?” B growls a little, “You’re his dad, aren’t you?”

“I provide for Walter both freedom and resources to become his own man, just as my father did for me,” Mr. Scriever taps his immaculate nails impatiently on the desk. B momentarily understands the appeal in going for the fingers. 

“What Brian means to say is that if you take responsibility for the donations to cancer research– Walter may avoid jail time,” A cuts in with a sickly smile, “After all, he is trying to do good.”

_ Yeah, I don’t think we ought to be nice to this fucker.  _ Not that there isn’t a bit of an edge to A’s tone, but she seems to be sucking up to him. Lawliet even seems a bit at a loss for what to do next, though he keeps his expression even. B can tell at the way his lips twitch that he’s not happy with where the conversation is going. 

“I’m not aware of Walter participating in any illegal activity,” Scriever stands to full height“He is old enough to take full responsibility for his own actions, and I will make that clear to him. In the meantime, I have my own responsibilities to attend to. Cora?”

The housekeeper appears relatively quickly, apparently used to such interactions, much to Scriever’s pleasure.  _ Fucker. _ “Please show our young guests the door.”

* * *

 

An icy silence follows them all the way back to Wammy’s car, finally cracking when B shuts his door and bursts out with a string of curse words. “Can you believe that asshole?” His face screws up in disgust. 

L  _ can _ , is the thing. Perhaps they ought to have better anticipated this, that a distant father would remain distant, even when faced with a bombshell about his son’s criminal activities.  _ But he didn’t even seem curious – not even a little.  _ L isn’t accustomed to being dismissed out of hand. Nowadays Scotland Yard always gives him their full attention when he gets in touch…but Scriever isn’t Scotland Yard, and ‘Luke’ isn’t L. 

“Did something go wrong?” Sensing their collective frustration, Wammy breaks his usual silence even as he steers the car onto the road. 

L glances up at the rear-view mirror, nibbling at the end of his finger. “Scriever brushed us off and showed us the door. Difficult to say if he’s actually concerned about what we told him or not. He seems the type who never has to answer to anyone – certainly not a group of teenagers.” 

“Yeah. Makes me really want to wipe that stupid smirk off his face,” A adds, tapping her nails ominously against the arm rest. 

L doesn’t entirely disagree with the sentiment, but he remains silent, staring out at the scenery even as ideas snarl together in his head. “It looks like we’ll have to approach Walter himself.” The words are quiet. He wants to feel what they sound like when he hears them aloud. 

They feel right. 

“I agree.” A leans across B to look at him, a light in her eyes. “If he knows someone’s got evidence on him he’ll cave and roll over. He’s probably the type who’s only brave behind a keyboard.” 

“Yeah?” There’s still a little heat to B’s voice. “Wonder what he’d think about his old man not standing up for him, though. That’s fucking low.”

L chews on one index finger, then the other. “We could always give him an ultimatum.” Giving ultimatums are risky; they tend to make people feel cornered, unpredictable. But Walter’s not a hardened criminal. Not yet.

L doesn’t mean to, but he pauses for so long that B finally nudges him. 

“The ultimatum is this: either Walter turns himself in for the bank fraud, or he helps us frame his father it.” 

* * *

 

B presses his knee a little harder against Lawliet’s thighs while the words wash over them. It’s a daring plan, for certain. _ It’d ruin his Dad, and framing him would be so easy. _

_ And it’s not like the fucker wouldn’t deserve it. _

“That’s very clever, Lars–” A nods approvingly, recovering first, “And seems like an appropriate form of justice. I would have suggested it myself.”

“Thank you,” Lawliet’s grey eyes flash with pride mixed with wariness. B smiles,  _ Nice to see Adder playing nice for once. _

_ Seems like we’ve got something we can all agree on.  _ Lawliet’s thigh feels warm against his, but A’s delicate floral perfume smells familiar too, mixed with the heated sweat of excitement between the three of them.

“We’ll use the forums. Quarter Queen can approach Dread Savant– perhaps as a friend, but under threat of working under someone far above her who has evidence against Walter. If we’re lucky, he’ll think it’s Deneuve.” 

“Also a clever idea– this way L need not reveal his hand until absolutely necessary,” Lawliet jams his finger in his mouth, shifting his toes onto the edge of the seat, “A few leading details– the name and dates of the banks he’s targeted, perhaps, will be enough to let him know we are quite serious.”

“We can make it seem like QQ is going against whoever she’s working for, going out on a limb to keep the kids from getting jail time,” B chimes in, feeling more confident in the plan by the moment. 

“That’ll probably make him feel less cornered by the ultimatum. Play the good little cop, and if it doesn’t work, well. L can be the bad cop, can’t he?” A chuckles, but it’s not quite with her usual degree of nastiness. 

“It might yet backfire on us– but I’m willing to try. Soon, if possible.”

“Yeah, same,” B smiles a little, he can’t help it.  _ I feel like this is the right thing to do. More so even, than going to see that asshole Scriever. _

_ Pretty soon he’ll get what’s coming to him. _

Old man Wammy keeps quiet, as per usual, but B can tell by the slight smile playing on his lips that he’s on board, and thinks they’re doing the right thing. And by the smile on Lawliet’s lips, B is pretty sure Lawliet thinks that too. When he slips his hand next to B’s, just so that their fingertips touch, B knows. And that feels right, for now.

* * *

 

**May 30, 1993**

_Compromised [do not edit or repost]_

**May 30, 1993**

L is grateful to be back in London, with its sprawl and traffic, and grateful to be back at Marylebone, especially – even if it means that he and B have to be sneaky about staying in the same bedroom. In the end, though, L decides not to be sneaky about it at all. Why should anyone care if he and his best mate are sleeping in a double bed together, like they have a million times before? A already knows what’s going on, and Wammy has certainly pieced it together by now, too. There’s nothing to hide, anymore, and for that, L is genuinely glad. 

They  _ do _ have to be quiet, though. The shower’s good for that. 

With Wedy zipped away on her motorbike, duty fulfilled, A is more relaxed, though she keeps chain-smoking as if engaged in a long-distance competition with the thief. And as far as Walter goes, none of them are particularly surprised when he ignores Quarter Queen’s first attempts to make contact, logging off only a minute or so after B types out the private message. 

“You think he’s really logged off?” A nods at the screen, perched on the arm of one of the study’s largest, squishiest armchairs. “The system can be hacked to display the log-off message. He might just be invisible.” 

“He’s probably hiding.” L and B are squeezed side by side, though B does most of the typing. “Is Zaphod hiding, too? He’s usually on at this hour, as I recall.” 

“Probably,” B mumbles, his hair falling over his eyes. “Brianne said she was grounded for sneaking out, then said she ‘wasn’t ready.’ Guess he took it personally. Or maybe he’s, I dunno, embarrassed.”

“Sheesh, get over it,” A hisses under her breath, and L quirks a smile at her, wholeheartedly in agreement.

“I think that invisible users can still receive PMs.” L taps his fingertips against the desk, then slips one of them between his lips, eyes narrowing at the screen. “Perhaps we ought to see if we can make ourselves impossible to ignore.”

* * *

 

_Walter Scriever [do not edit or repost]_

The three of them hunch over the screen in the office, with A in the office chair setting up the gambit, tapping out Walter’s name with her red-painted fingers that are slightly stained with nicotine.  _ Bet that’ll get his attention. _

It’s Lawliet who leans forwards to raise the stakes, adding a name force his hand. A lets out a low whistle. The response is immediate, like the nervous twitch of someone staring in horror at the screen snapping into action.

_ ‘What do you want?’ _

He doesn’t even bother to switch off from his false ‘offline’ status. 

_ ‘I’m not falling for your act like Zaphod did.’ _

“Ooh,” A crows, finger at her lips, “That got your attention, didn’t it?”

“How much do we wanna freak him out? We gotta let him know he can trust us,” B drums his fingers on the desk. 

“No act. Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you,” Lawliet dictates while A types furiously, adding the message,  _ You know that I know who you are, and a lot more. _

_ ‘There’s no money alright. Just leave me alone.’ _

‘”Can I?” B asks A, who shrugs and shifts over,  _ I know. I was supposed to get you arrested. But when I saw what you were doing, I didn’t want to. I want to help you, Walter.’ _

B means it, when he types it, and even A nods approvingly. Lawliet’s fingertips rest against the office chair and B squeezes them absently while they wait for Walter’s reply, 

_ ‘dont call me that.’ _

_ ‘Deneuve. You work for Deneuve.’ _

* * *

 

“No way,” A hisses, lunging for the keyboard.  _ ‘Deneuve’s a nobod–’  _ L gently pulls at her shoulder before she can finish and hit ‘enter.’ 

“No. This is good. He’s taking us seriously, now.” Since their finger-cracking encounter with the DARQs at DEFF Con, Deneuve’s name has sent a swell of panic through the hacking world  – ironic, considering that L is fairly certain that Deneuve has never bothered with the cyber-crime beat. Far too low stakes for someone like him.

A quirks an eyebrow at L and he stiffens instinctively, bracing for her to challenge him, to spit out something like ‘ _ are you really gonna let that mercenary take credit for our casework?’  _ But she only sighs softly and pushes herself away from the keyboard. “You sure?” 

“We have his attention. I don’t want to lose it.” 

She nods as B takes the keyboard back, glancing up at L for his next prompt.

“Tell him  _ ‘From what I’ve heard of Deneuve, he doesn’t offer to help people _ .’” L watches the bright green letters crawl across the screen. “I’m sure someone as clever as you has realized by now that his room was recently searched. And I’ve got enough evidence to turn the heads of the police.”

B finishes the sentence with a flourish, after which comes a long silence. “He’s probably looking around his room, and has only now discovered the scrambled floppies we left in the safe,” A muses, leaning forward as if engrossed in an exciting television program. “Expert at computer security, maybe, but nothing else I bet.” 

_ ‘you call this help?’  _ Walter finally types.  _ ‘What do you really want?’ _

B types out a careful reply without L’s prompting, casting a quick, questioning look at A and L, then hitting ‘enter’ when L nods. 

_ ‘Either way, someone is going to be turned in for bank fraud. You can either take option one – turn yourself in and hope that your youth merits you some leniency – or you can take option two…’ _

Even L leans forward now, his breath held until the screen blinks with Walter’s reply. 

_ ‘fine. What’s option two?’ _

__ ‘You help me frame your father.’ _ _

* * *

 

There is a collective held breath when L sends the last message, the three of them staring at the screen. A doesn’t snap out something ugly, Lawliet’s full attention is directed at managing the case, and B, well.  _ I like being in the middle of it.  _

_ It’s like we used to be, or at least after Ace and I get used to each other.  _ B considers flashing her a quick grin just as the next line of texts flashes up on the screen.

_ ‘i need time to think about it.’ _

A chuckles darkly, “As if.”

Lawliet nods, dictating to B without having to discuss what their next move is. They just know. “Not an option. You decide within the next ten minutes. The police will be at your home by the end of this morning, in all likelihood.”

_ ‘Other people rarely get this chance.’  _ B adds as an afterthought, to A’s hum of approval. 

“Can’t believe he’s having to think about it this long, to be honest,” A rakes her nails through her hair, one hand settled on B’s office chair. 

“He might be faster if he knew how quickly his old man would sell him up the river,” B growls, thinking about the slight wrinkle in Scriever’s nose.  _ See how snooty he can be from a jail cell.  _

“I’m sure he’ll make the right decision, in time,” A says with the quicksilver smile B hasn’t seen in a while. It’s one of her old favourites, but it’s never felt quite as real as when Lawliet smiles, not that Lawliet could fake a smile if he tried. 

“He probably knows if he gets caught, Stevie and Paul might get implicated too. Or at least Paul,” Lawliet muses, while B settles his fingers against the keyboard expectantly, “That will likely sway him, despite hesitating to get his father arrested.”

_ Yeah, he wouldn’t sell out his friends to save his asshole of a father.  _ B drums his fingers impatiently, acutely aware of how simple this would be if it had been any one of them.  _ The choice is obvious. _

The white monotype text finally flashes on the screen. 

_ ‘no deal.’ _

_ ‘you might as well come and get me, if you can.’ _

The three of them are on their feet barely a second later. 

* * *

 

L’s frown doesn’t flicker as Wammy drives them back to Salisbury, cruising a comfortable 10 or so kilometers above the speed limit.   
  
It’s the _‘if you can’_ that sticks in his head.  
  
“Walter wouldn’t think of running for it, would he?” he mutters, mostly to himself.   
  
“Doubt it. He can’t even leave the house without his precious gameboy.” B gives his knee a pat, and while it might just be a gesture meant to soothe him, L’s grateful just the same.  
  
Before asking Wammy to bring around the car, L had placed a call to his most reliable contact at Scotland Yard and faxed over enough of his case notes and evidence to secure a warrant of arrest. Even so, that doesn’t mean that his contact will be able to mobilize the Winchester police in time to intercept Walter, should he decide to run for it.   
  
“Backup’s right.” A cranes her head around to look at L. “Maybe he’d try to hide in the attic or the guest house, but I doubt he’d set out on his own.”   
  
L gives her a quick but uneasy smile. Beneath his concern that Walter might slip away is a bubbling sense of vague dissatisfaction. He had been so sure that Walter would take up the offer to frame his distant, arrogant father, but his instincts were wrong. _Why? What did I miss?_   
  
“You okay?” B presses their shoulders together. “We’re almost there,” he points out the window at the tall, middle spire of the gothic Salisbury Cathedral, which is somehow even more ornate than Winchester’s.   
  
“Yes.” L nods firmly, his fingers crawling over to B’s absently, threading them together. Wherever he went wrong, he can sort it out later. For now, they just need to get to Walter.  
  
They’re at the estate in virtually no time, B’s heart pounding in his chest even as he reassures Lawliet. _Walter won’t get far. He’s not that type._ B punches the doorbell with his finger, hearing the obnoxious chimes resonate through the house. No answer.   
  
“Sunday afternoon is the housekeeper’s day off?” A volunteers, though she sounds uncertain herself.   
  
“Check the guest house first, then Walter’s room, then the attic,” Lawliet instructs, brow furrowed.  
  
"I’ll go upstairs - -“ A begins, but B instinctively puts a hand in her shoulder.  
  
“No. It’ll make more sense for him to see all of us together, yeah?“   
  
She’s glances back to Lawliet’s quick nod, that peculiar smile flickering across her face, somewhere poised between deep gratitude and something like revulsion. It’s gone as soon as it comes, replaced by her quicksilver smile.   
  
B doesn’t have time to think much on it. 

He readies his game face as they cross the grounds towards the guest house. He knocks twice before grabbing for the doorknob, which to B’s surprise, is unlocked.  _ Is he here?  _ __  
__  
The space is hung with tense silence amidst the antique furniture.    
  
"Harry? Um, Walter?” A calls, with the appropriate uncertainty. B is just starting to consider turning back when his ears pick up slight rustling from the bedroom. Catching Lawliet’s eyes, he slowly reaches for the door to push it open.    
  
“You.” Walter says quietly. Just sitting on the bed, his Gameboy beside him.  _ After all that… _ __  
__  
“Thanks God we found you, mate - -” B picks up Brian’s voice with an air of urgency , “We don’t have much time."

* * *

L is the last one through the doorway, making a quick study of Walter that slows, then grinds to a halt, when he realizes that his face is inscrutable, the only notable body language seen in the hands he folds limply in his lap, free of the Gameboy for what seems like the first time. 

_ What is this…Has he given up? _

“You were here yesterday.” A small light sharpens in Walter’s eyes. “I overheard Cora saying some teenagers came by.”

“We came to see your Dad.” B takes a few steps forward, flinching when he nearly upsets a vase on a tall, spindly stand. “Thought we might convince him to help you out.” 

Walter looks from A to B, then over to L, connections forming. He’s observant, that much is plain, and L glances at the Gameboy again, realizing what a perfect tool it was to feign distraction. Walter had been standing right in front of them on the first day of DEFF Con’s video game competition, had even told them that the gas-masked DARQs were Black Hats.  _ He should have caught my attention then, but he didn’t… _

“You’re Quarter Queen?” Walter zeroes in on A now, eyes lips pursing together just slightly. 

“None of us are,” L says, the lie slipping from his lips as easily as pure, unshakable truth. “Quarter Queen is a White Hat who’s been turning in Blacks. She claimed to have phreaking evidence against us, but said she’d drop it if we helped her track down the Pois0N Lulz at DEFF Con. It wasn’t until after the Con that we started to suspect that we’d been used.”

“That’s right. Turning Black Hats against each other is her specialty.” A nods somberly. “I bet she went after one of your own best mates, didn’t she?” 

_ Good, build up the sense of shared betrayal.  _

“Yeah, she tried to turn Paul.” Walter is still drawn and serious, but not at all hostile. Calm, even. “But only because you lead her to him.” 

“We did, and I’m really sorry about that.” B doesn’t even have to lie, guilt making his shoulders droop and his voice go raspy. “That should have been the end of it, but she kept reeling us back in. And then we saw the evidence she collected on you… cancer research, yeah?” B shifts and tugs on the hem of his tee-shirt. “I mean, you’re not really much of a Black Hat, are you?” 

Walter shifts back on the pillows, turning his head to look out the window. “It was just a pound or two from each account, sometimes less. Small enough not to hurt anyone. But it was a lot of accounts, I suppose.” He rolls his head back, his expression still blank. 

“I reckon I don’t know what I am. Why? What are you?” 

* * *

_ What are we? We’re the kids you shouldn’t trust.  _

“I’d say we’re blacker than you are, at least,” B says ruefully, and isn’t sure if he fully believes it’s a lie. 

“All the black hats are scared of Deneuve,” Walter says it without looking at either of them, voice still impassive, but something in B’s gut says he’s scared too.

“Quarter Queen doesn’t work for Deneuve–” Lawliet intones, causing them both to turn to him in slight surprise, “She works for someone called L.”

“Oh,” it doesn’t seem to grant Walter much relief, either. B leans back against a luxurious armoire, studying him for a moment. There’s something about the quiet, distant way Walter susses them out that tugs at familiarity in B.  _ He reminds me of…someone.  _

_ Someone I should protect.  _

“Was it you who wanted to frame my Dad, too?”

“We thought if he wasn’t going to help you, he deserved it,” B doesn’t even try to lie, realizing something about Walter’s barefaced curiousity.  _ He reminds me of Lawliet. _

“I don’t really need help,” Walter says it almost automatically, but something in his veneer slips a little. He reaches for his Gameboy, looking as uncomfortable as B feels.  _ Like Lawliet, but colder.  _

B eyes the death date above his forehead.  _ He’s gonna live a long time for someone so set on going to jail.  _ B opens his mouth to spool out the next lie, though it doesn’t seem like Walter is going anywhere, “Can we… did you want to try and get out of here? Before they catch you?”

B almost wishes it wasn’t a lie.  _ But we’ve done all we can. _

_ He made his choice.  _

“It’s pointless now. Besides. They won’t make the research give the money back,” Walter mumbles it to himself almost absently, now fully staring at the glow of his Gameboy. B thinks his eyes are catching the light more than they were before, but he could be just imagining it.

“You should go before the police arrive. You don’t know Quarter Queen won’t betray you too.”

* * *

Wammy’s car has enough cover that they get to watch Walter be taken away by the police about an hour later.

“Well, they didn’t cuff him,” A remarks, lowering the binoculars and passing them back to B. “I suppose that bodes well.” 

“Mmm.” L hums elusively, shaking his head slightly when B tries to send the binoculars his way. He has very little interest in seeing Walter put into the back of a patrol car, even if he isn’t cuffed up like a common criminal. B shifts enough to nudge him, though, his eyes curious and inquiring.  _ ‘What’s on your mind?’ _

L doesn’t reveal a thing until they’re back at Marylebone and in the dark, B’s spindly arm thrown across L’s chest, his breath warming the crook of L’s neck. Through the open window comes the sound of light traffic whizzing through rain-drenched streets. 

“I expected him to take the offer to frame up his father.” 

The words make B jolt from the fringes of sleep and lift his head off the pillow just slightly. “Yeah. I guess I did, too.” 

“He was a difficult criminal to figure out.” L’s fingers tug at the sheets, relax, then tug again. “I suppose because he wasn’t much of a criminal at all. Just a kid looking for something to do. For something to make him feel better.”

In the dim light, L can only just see how B sucks on the edge of his lip, hesitating a beat before speaking. “He was lonely, don’t you think?” 

“Yeah, I do.”  _ Because he missed his Mum. _

He rolls his head toward the open window, liking the feel of cool air against his cheeks.  _ Do I miss my Mum? What about my Dad? _

It’s an absurd thought. L’s father is long gone, and when it comes right down to it, Saskia is, too. There’s nothing there to miss.

“Anyway.” L shifts away from the window and collapses against to B, knocking their knobbly shoulders together, his exhaustion suddenly immediate and profound. “I’m glad we’re not.” 

“Not what?” B asks after a moment, fingertips skating over L’s arm. “Lonely?” 

L’s too close to sleep, too on the verge of slipping into dreams, to speak words aloud, his hand loosely settling around B’s wrist in answer.  

 

 


	10. Epilogue: July 1, 1993

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All's well that ends well... for now! :)

**July 1 1993**

_I have yours (do not edit or repost)_  
  
The summer doesn’t really hit till late, rolling in with a sweet stickiness hanging thick in the air of Lawliet’s room. Not that there’s been much time to comment on the weather. In the wake of solving the Scriever phreaker case, L has been offered a flurry of new cases, some based on the growing BBS web, others more traditional.  
  
It’s for that reason that B is left alone sketching right now, fondly tracing out the shape of a memory he wants to have _certain._ Lawliet is speaking as L to the Chicago police department about a string of murders connected by the presence of a certain variety of candle. _I’m sure we’ll bounce ideas about it soon._  
  
For the first time in nearly a month, B considers going to class, if only for the comfortable novelty of it. _But nah, it’ll be too hot in the classrooms._ His eyes wander to the pile of conspiracy-theory laden cheap magazines that Lawliet likes to skim for interesting crimes. _‘Interview with a Child Mastermind– the Robin Hood of our Age_ ’ catches his eye.  
  
_Well. They certainly didn’t waste time turning him into a freakshow._  
  
B opens up the article, which features photographs from Walter’s trial and even a gimmicky interview with terse answers from Walter himself. _Guess he’s doing alright, then._  
  
Wammy kept them updated on the trial–it had been a short process, which mostly landed a lot of the fallout on Walter’s dad, after all. Walter was doing a short stint in what A referred to as ‘hand-holding juvie for rich kids’, but seemed to be receiving as much positive attention as negative, once the details about the cancer research came out.  
  
B’s eyes linger on a quote:  
  
_‘What was the moment you decided to take on the role of a Robin-Hood for the World Wide Web?’_  
  
_‘When I stole over a thousand pounds and no one had noticed. I didn’t have a reason to keep the money.’_  
  
_‘Were you thinking of what your mother would have wanted? If that’s not a sensitive question.’_  
  
_‘I don’t think she would have wanted this.’_  
  
_‘Well, yes, I mean– but you have done some good.’_  
  
_‘[Pause]. Yes._  
  
“Hey, how was the head of the Chicago Police Department?” B smiles automatically when Lawliet slouches into the room, shucking off his usual long-sleeved tee for a short-sleeved one at last.  
  
“I actually ended up speaking to the state commissioner, who was comparatively useless. I believe he may have pulled rank to speak with L, but knows next to nothing about the Peano case. I let him know I was not impressed.”  
  
“Tch. Bigwigs always sticking their nose where they don’t belong. Glad you told him off.”  
  
“There was good information left by the head despite that. Though the heat is making it difficult to think. Catching up on the case?” Lawliet settles in the couch next to B and leans over to look at the splashy article.

* * *

  
“Maybe reminiscing a bit,” B slips his hand overtop of Lawliet’s, despite the warmth, “You want to take a walk? I bet the breeze is better out in the forest.”  
  
L smiles a little at how the humidity has added volume to B’s curly hair, then flips the magazine shut on the grainy, black and white photos of Walter. “I heard from Maria that Walter is doing security consulting for firms looking to expand on the web. She’s working for him, actually. Under the table, of course.” Since Salisbury L and Maria worked together twice, though the last time they spoke she warned him that she was going to take on a new identity, soon. Maria is too much like Merrie, she had said through a puff of her ever-present cigarette. L hadn’t asked for further explanation; one of the things he liked about Maria was that she kept one foot in the present and the other in the future. The past was irrelevant.  
  
B lifts an eyebrow, though his tone is unsurprised. “Never met a wall she didn’t wanna learn how to scale, I guess.”  
  
“That’s rather an understatement.” L digs his pager out of his pocket, checks the most recent number, and tosses it aside. He’s learned from experience that casework isn’t all that compatible with their walks in the forest. “Yes, let’s see if we can’t get some fresh air.”  
  
They swing their hands a few inches apart as they cross the grounds behind Wammy’s house. It’s not that they’re hiding their relationship, really, but they’re not drawing any kind of attention to it, either. It’s not just that they’re both blokes, but that most of the other students still remember them as cousins – but L has never cared much what the other kids say about him, and he’s very nearly always been the subject of rumours.  
  
A is on the archery range, bow hoisted over her shoulder as Barrett and Jonathan take turns in front of the target, each battling to impress her. L doubts either of them stand a prayer. Her face wrinkles in a smile as they head for the forest path, and she lifts her bow in a small salute at B’s passing wave.  
  
When the canopy of trees closes in around them, they clasp hands automatically, heading for the sound of trickling water. The branches overhead create puddles of cool shade, and a mild wind rustles the leaves.  
  
“Nicer here,” L admits. They have just as much privacy in his room, but not even the two fans he’s set up on the windowsills have done much to cut into the heat wave.

* * *

 

“Really nice. Wanna go swimming? It’ll be cool, and it’s not that deep,” B nods encouragingly as the path starts to wind close to the bank of the stream. _Not that we won’t be going off that path soon, though._

  
“Alright. Let’s go further than you did in May, though.”  
  
“I’m definitely up for that,” B knocks a shoulder against Lawliet’s, smirking at the double entendre. They’ve come a long way since the fevered tension of two months ago. _Though, yeah– there is some tension still there._ B grins as he quickens his pace past the oaks and alders, long since knowing the twists and turns of the acres of forest like the back of his hand.  
  
After they’ve crossed several hundreds of yards into the deep brush in gentle conversation, B turns at a familiar birch to find the murmur of the stream again. When they get to the sandy edges of the bank, B wastes no time taking off his slightly sticky clothes and wading into the water, gasping a little at the sharp cold.  
  
Lawliet, for once, seems to be taking his time stripping down, which is a peculiar contrast to how willing he is to wander around nude in his room with B present. The sun, dappled through the trees, gives his pale skin something like a glow. He catches B’s eyes, letting his gaze crawl over B’s skin with a slight smirk before resuming folding up his clothes on the bank.  
  
Lawliet steps forward almost tentatively, his eyes on his bare toes against the forest floor. _What’s he thinking so hard about?_ B smiles a little fondly, _it’s not like he’s not going to get distracted in a minute anyways._  
  
“Hey,” B kicks his foot into the stream, sending up a jet of cool water in Lawliet’s direction.  
  
“Hey!” Lawliet sputters a little back, the cold water dripping down the hollows of his ribs.  
  
“Stop thinking so much and get over here,” he settles into a crouch amidst the quick flow of the water., shivering a little at how sensitive he is to the cold, but never taking his eyes off Lawliet’s hungry grey gaze.

* * *

 

L never really feels naked except for when he’s naked outside in the open, the wide blue eye of the sky blazing overhead. Picking his way carefully over the stones at the water’s edge, he finally plunges in to his waist, the cool water a relief in more ways than one. He tries not to think about slicing his foot open on a rock or broken bottle and splashes over to B, curiously envious of how at ease he is in the elements, ducking down so that the water laps at his shoulder and dampens the ends of his hair.

“Feels good,” he admits, and B lights up, swishing closer for what could either be a kiss or a dunking maneuver. Never one to not take the initiative, L lunges forward and latches onto B’s shoulders, grinning as he pushes him under the stream’s lazy current.

B comes up sputtering and wiping water from his eyes, scoffing once before sending a wave in L’s direction. They lark around like that for a few minutes, laughing easily until a comfortable silence falls between them and L finds B’s hand beneath the rippling water.

“Hey.” B tilts his face up for their usual, effortless transition into making out, but L holds himself back in the water, having trouble knowing what to look at. A crow in the nearest tree at first, then an unusual shaped boulder, and then finally at B’s hazel, gold-flecked eyes.

“I love you, you know,” L blurts out, his face immediately heating up so that he wishes he could dunk it in the cold water. It’s not that he hasn’t said it before, but it’s always at those moments when they’re touching each other, on the verge of or just after getting off. He doesn’t even know why he’s said it just now; it wasn’t planned, just something that rose up out of him unbidden, like a sneeze.

L takes a half-step back, expecting B to laugh, maybe, or perhaps quip back the old Han Solo line: ‘ _I know.’_ But B only wraps his thin arms around L’s shoulder and squeezes him tight.

* * *

 

The words seems stuck in B’s throat for once, overwhelmed by the sudden, raw vulnerability in the careful way Lawliet holds him tightly back. _But it’s true._

 _He really is that important to me. And I’m that important to him._ It makes him feel giddy and strange, like such a thing might not be possible, that Lawliet might slip away with the slow gurgle of the stream of he doesn’t hold tight.

Lawliet almost shivers a little in the water, and B clutches him tighter, again recalling that strange, fierce desire to protect that had risen up, though much weaker, around Walter Scriever.

 _But it’s Lawliet that’s the strong one, isn’t he?_ B loses the shape of that thought in a kiss, turning his head to catch Lawliet’s lips.

“I love you too, L Lawliet,” he smiles in what must look so soppy that Lawliet laughs a little, grey eyes dancing underneath the red letters and numbers.

“It’s nice here, but a little too cold, actually–”

“We can head back to the bank, the sun will dry us off, warm us up a little.”

“Alright, that sounds perfect,” Lawliet stands up a little too quickly, almost losing his footing.

“Careful!” B swoops upright, catching Lawliet’s hands and waist before he tumbles face-first into the water.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Lawliet nods, but B can feel his heartbeat picking up, the way his grip tightens on B’s wrist.

“Don’t worry. M’always going to have your back,” B says it more seriously than he intends, lacing their fingers together. Lawliet squeezes his hand back.

“I know,” Lawliet leans on B a little as they scrabble out of the water, settling in to the sand and the sunlight.

“I know,” he repeats very quietly, and kisses B again.

_Just Kids [do not edit or repost]_

**Author's Note:**

> More in this installment will be posted soon. :) Please consider leaving a comment - we very rarely get them and would literally be happy with ANYTHING. Thanks!


End file.
